Bearclaw Valley gardenia and king protea

How appropriate it was that when left to their own devices, Evien healed people, while Taylor, even given the power, tended to do the opposite. 
You're good, though, he wants to say. I might not even deserve to know you.
Making Evien laugh felt as charged as any fistfight. It's cheery and elastic, everything that he fails to be. His mouth feels unbelievably dry; he swallows. I'll keep that in mind, he says, returning the smile, although every cell in his body is begging him not to. Taylor lies down on the grass. It's the same way he had been sitting when they had first met each other in the Glade. He leans his head back and clears his throat, looking at Evien with one half-lidded eye.
I am glad you're here, Fields. A muscle in his jaw moves with an effort. He doesn't know where this effort was supposed to be headed. Don't apologise, he says, realising midway that Evien might've noticed the dissapointment that had flashed across his face. The thought worries at his seams. 
You're here now, aren't you? I'm not dreaming, am I? But this wouldn't be a bad dream at all if it was. I'd want to stay asleep for once.