Yay for learning Arabic. Word Count » --
By the time he had reached the meadow, the sun had begun to creep up from the forest at his back. It was not uncomfortably cold in the mornings yet, though he was well aware that the winter could arrive suddenly and with force. This month and the next would still be without incident, but soon enough all of his flowers would die and he would have to rely on those in the greenhouse. While useful, he found that the wild plants often grew differently—he was not skilled enough to understand the different needs of plants, and wished sourly that Clover had not abandoned them.
A voice distracted him from his thoughts, and the small man looked up. His movements were never sudden, never jerky; always, control. This he attributed to his holy blood. If he had been born another god, he might have behaved differently. Certainly, his siblings all did. Likewise, he did not smile to greet her, but instead approached at his same pace and met her without flair. “Sa’adat,” he greeted, his deep voice coming from such a small frame. “صباح الخير.”
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