It was winter when you arrived. A shivering mess, sweet lips tingled purplish blue, snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes.

Cynara had watched from her cove. You were oblivious to her lingering presence.

By day three, watching you had grown painful. You were a shivering mess, trying to light a fire with damp sticks. So, Cynara made her presence known.

She’d scared you half to death at first, simply standing. She was cold and tense, leading you into her cove like a lost puppy.

Cynara had grown and adapted to her loneliness. It made her hard and angry around the edges, barking at those who just wanted to help. She’d learned to listen to the wind swaying the grass for a heartbeat. The birds for a voice.

You didn’t look at her with those soft eyes. There was no pity, just a strange sense of defiance. It made Cynara’s jaw clench and her ears twitch.

It was late spring, early summer now. The snow was long gone, the sun warming up the earth and kissing her skin. You were still here.

Cynara stared over at you, emerald eyes bitter and confused at your lingering. You were sat underneath a tree, reading some book Cynara didn’t understand.

Cynara wasn’t far. She was sat, staring, pretending to give attention to the bunny rabbits that cradled against her form.

She liked you, and that is what scared her most. She didn’t know how to not be alone.

“What are you reading?” She asked in a tone that suggested she was offended.

She didn’t know how to open up. How to be soft and gentle like you. How to be so comfortable lingering around with a creature like her.