Bree, over a decade ago
“Mama, I’ve finally got a friend. I think ye’d have liked him.”
The 16-year-old sat crosslegged in the grass in front of a small gravestone. A small bundle of fresh wildflowers lay at the base of the stone, and she held a now-withered flower crown in her lap.
“He’s a bit odd, but he doesn’t know ‘bout Papa and he treats me like a normal person. Works for the mapmaker in town, odd fellow but got a good reputation, an' he tells me stories o' adventures in far off lands.”
The girl pauses, fidgeting with the flowers for a moment. With a glance at the sun, now beginning to dip, she stood now and placed the withered circlet of flowers on the gravestone. “He showed me how t’ make this, I haven’t made one since ye showed me as a little girl.
“I miss ye, Mama.
“But for th’ first time in a while, life ain’t all lonely anymore.”
