Otatso Wetlands sandhill

Black whiskers quivered. Wildflower wanted to laugh, but thought better of it.

"It matters to me," he replied, hoping the other man would see the reason in this. Perhaps it didn't matter to his loved one. That was reasonable, too. Perhaps it didn't matter to the stranger, either. Removed as he was, Wildflower thought that nothing ought to matter to him more than intention.

The man was out of control. He ought to leave, then.

But he hadn't meant to do it. Wildflower ought to stay.

He licked his lips; the only sign of his anxiety.

"My name's Wildflower," he said, watching the man's face. "I never knew a thing a day in my damn life, neither." His teeth showed, but his smile was wry and kind. "You get over it. Give it some time. Or give it plenty."