Firefly Ravine all the way to cassadaga to commune with the dead

The druid was that close to giving up and returning to her bath — it was more for pleasure than for any other reason — but Olive gave the flower one more furtive glance, and she tried to get closer, nails skittering on the rock as she attempted to scale the stone. It was still in vain, and Olive wondered if she cared enough to dry her pelage and then attempt it again, but this time from the shore. Deciding no, she pushed her forelegs off of the rock and they returned to the water with a splash. The woman dialed herself back and turned, and that was when she saw the man!

He immediately gave off an air of not-wanting-to-intrude, as if he was only here to help and for no other ulterior reason, so the druid did not ruffle her feathers. Instead, she was grateful: an answer to the prayer she just so recently sung! Perhaps she would get her pretty, purple bloom after all. “Oh, yes, please,” she affirmed excitedly. Then, she quickly amended, just in case he was going to rush forward and play the hero. “— oh, but sir, If you can, try to keep its roots intact,” a flower that was snipped, and then died because of it, was a waste of life and beauty in the truest sense of the word.

“I wish to plant it in my home, where it might bloom forevermore”