The Heartwood eye for an eye, heart for a heart

She traced the lavender gently to his chin, wondering if the scent reminded him of anything as it did to her—though if she were honest with herself, the ache of her nostalgia was perhaps spurned by something else within—that kindling flame that desired hearth, and home, and—

‘…do you like it?’

Gingerly placing the lavender betwixt the other two florals, she nudged it once more—the faintest touch along her cheek—before taking a step closer to him and emboldened by his curiosity to toward her. “Very much so,” she confirmed, eyes tracing him once more, admiring the darkness of his pelt against the blanket of night that began to shroud the trees around them. “But I find myself empty handed.”

She paused, feeling the tension of the moment thrum in her chest—the gentle nervousness that she might entirely be reading him incorrectly. “Perhaps a kiss, in return, for your kindness?”