Hushed Willows You Won't Leave the Table, She Won't Leave Your Mind

She chuckled lightly. Flowers? For her? What was she, some kind of deity? Still, an effort was made to appease her and she could hardly ignore it. She did like flowers; but more so when they were in the ground still. She was not a materialistic woman, and trinkets held little value for her. She knew others to be different, her own brother collected bones for a short while, she believed. Her father had been obsessed with some kind of moonstone that apparently brought him visions, and her mother had carried around a rotting tongue wherever they'd move to. She didn't understand then, nor now, what the value of those items were. Were they truly magical, or was it all just sentimentality, something they'd made up?

She picked up the red flower, the one with the large, brush-like petals, and shoved the stem in the fur near Dante's left ear. She leaned back then, admiring her work from afar. She had barely thought about her actions here, it just felt right, and the color was lovely on him. I suppose I do like flowers. She nodded with a bit of a smirk. They look lovely on you - not that you don't already. A bold comment for the supposedly soft-spoken fae, but one she was willing to make.

It was then that she decided to sprawl out a bit; the weather was lovely, and she had come here to pamper herself a little. She lounged, head tipped to look at Dante, but her willowy frame catching as much of the sun as was possible. Gods, she could listen to him talk for ours. She took to heart, his little ramblings, and listened intently even when it seemed she might be dozing off. A content smile never faded from her muzzle as she listened to the flower boy speak, though she found it odd that he put himself down so much. Then again, she was no different. The stupid were often the most sure of themselves, so she'd noticed. It made them confident - superior, emotionally, to someone like Lumiya. While she kept doubting, the stupid had already done the work and been satisfied with that. She wasn't bold nor confident, and though it made her selfless and understanding, it kept her from becoming a leader like her parents. Many faults they had, but their leadership skills weren't one of them.

I hope you're not right. She answered. For if you are, and I am on top of everything, how could I ever learn? She asked in a way that did not require an answer, looking now at the waterfalls in the distance. The droplets had to fall to create something beautiful. Perhaps there was beauty in failure.