finesylk:

_{“Nary a flower - pith echoing little misfortunes. How woeful. So sad. Nary a flower, but a trembling weed against the sure winds. I’d be more careful if I were so meek and small…”  Misery loves company.}

         _{This man seemed strange, and spoke in such a manner that was almost poetic in its wording. Yet still she had met stranger, but even with that in mind she looked at him cautiously. ”Who are you?”}