Patlin had followed their nose. High on the sun-warmed air, set against the cold slice of winter, they'd found the delicate sweetness of flowers and the fragrant spice of herbs. This early? And such variety! From there, they'd hopped from point to point, playing a one-beast game of hotter-colder until they found the garden at the source.
And the gardener.
The wolf that moved among the flowers was a flowerbed unto themself; arcs of blue larkspur blooms cascaded over their back and tail, and they were accompanied by a cloud of optimistic early pollinators. Such adornments usually meant Ohr, but Patlin didn't much care.
"Hello there!" they called from the edge of the herb patch. "Hail and well met and all that. What are you doing?"
And the gardener.
The wolf that moved among the flowers was a flowerbed unto themself; arcs of blue larkspur blooms cascaded over their back and tail, and they were accompanied by a cloud of optimistic early pollinators. Such adornments usually meant Ohr, but Patlin didn't much care.
"Hello there!" they called from the edge of the herb patch. "Hail and well met and all that. What are you doing?"