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

There was not much leeway in time as the valiant night rushed to save the damsel in distress. He had barely introduced himself, and Olive had barely responded with a sweet  “And I am Olive —” before he was off! The man scaled the boulder with ease where she had so resolutely struggled to do so. Her lips of twisted licorice nearly feel open as she watched him; certainly she could have done this for herself had she not been so rotund and top-heavy, like a Russian nesting doll 3 layers deep, but she was not her normal lithe self and resigned to rely to others to provide her with the things she needed. It was quite a sight to see, anyways: a man striving hard to give her what she desired, even something as frivolous as a flower atop an unreachable stone.

Her mouth, which a moment before was hanging open, snipped shut as he grasped for the stem of the bloom. In her mind’s eye, she saw him reached for the flower and rip it apart with the force of the blow; but the dexterity and expertise of his jaws delicately plucked the flora from its shallow surface with the roots, more or less, still attached. The man descended from the rock and presented the flower to her, and the priestess felt unabated joy bloom within her heart and having been given exactly the thing she desired, and in such good time too.  “Oh, Sir, Benedict, you did it!” the pale woman cheered, turning an eye to look upon her garden’s newest addition.  “Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” then she lifted her head in inquiry, seriously desiring an answer, not immediately realizing that it would be relatively impossible for him.