300+
She did not give gifts? Anu found that surprising, at first. She kept the thoughts from her face, the black furred fey was different the she, such a thing was obvious. It wasn’t bad, no the Dahlian was far a grander being then Anu would ever become. But Anu knew of things that might bring a creature happiness and sought those things out only to turn around and surrender them once they had been found. The sight of their face was enough. She would find something for Cwmfen, something that would be of worth, for the flowers did not speak to her as they spoke to Colibri, and show her the feeling a gift could bring.
Anu only watched, settled among the uncovered roots of the great oak. The two little wolves looked to her, and Anu could hear the protest against her presence. Not many had visited, it seemed. They were still so young, it would hard for them to not find her and the foreign scent she wore as a threat. Anu gave an understanding smile, she knew that it would be hard at first for them to accept her. Unless either of them was naturally out-going she would expect to only sit and watch. Interested in what the woman had to tell her Anu listened as she spoke. And when her voice took to words Anu was slightly surprised by what she heard.
Eyes looked at her face as she spoke, the picture unfolding in her mind as the story was told. Even as the white eyes were drawn away from hers, to a place unknown to Anu, she still watched. How would it end? The question given to her as if Anu had heard the story before. And yet she spoke as if she did, “A tale it is. A mysterious place that grows its roses in the dead of winter.” Of course there was no place, and no species the bloomed in the cold past a hard frost. But she hadn’t lost the purpose of the fantasy. “I believe it depends on the one that has picked this flower. Bold and brash, so confident that it is their right to own it, will only feel the sting of its thorns and know the ill of its poisons.” She paused, thinking again of another. “But if it’s their hope to save the flower from the ravishing cold, the cautious and caring. They wish to ease it’s chill and savor it in the safety of summer, from the roots the take it with the very soil the take it. Avoid the pricks and be saved from the venom.” Her story had left room for questions and possibilities, and as bitter sweet as the flower had been described, the heart of the one who yearned or its pleasure had been unknown.