Honeyed Pasture make me wish i hadn't

The flower had survived the chill of winter without hearing much of anyone or anything. She, herself, found it quite an accomplishment. Her fate, however, hung much in the air to be caught by a stranger, for sure. What was a flower to do other than look pretty to attract others? Yet she wanted no attention. She kept herself tiny, in creaks of the mortal world not to be detected, for whoever would catch her would abuse her weak mind and body. Or so she had been told.

While she could not hear much, her sense of smell was quite good, and by the salt in the air she supposed she was not very far from the sea. She stayed and wandered in the pasture, tiny form seemingly gliding slyly over the land.