Sun Mote Copse the shepherd

friend.

a young woman knew better than to question this warmth. hold it, nurture it, cherish it. she had been taught the lessons of survival and of the sharpness the world wielded.

it did not mean she needed to create more of it in moments of paranoia and worry.

more importantly, this woman was carrying life. the signs were obvious but forsythia had seen how spring could turn the bodies of those seasons beyond her. she’d be no good medic or nature-tender if she had remained oblivious to it all.

its beauty, its bounty. ripples of youthful awe in her voice that reflected in the shine of her eyes as well. no longer so sad, so terribly hardened by loss. do you make a home here?