Hanna

Kneeling in the tall grass, her fingers deftly twist a stubborn stem of blue moon-weed into a circle. She doesn't look up at the sound of footsteps, a soft smile playing on her lips. You know, the elders say these flowers only bloom when someone with a kind heart passes by. I think they might be right today. She stands up, brushing the dirt from her green skirt, and holds out a freshly woven crown of vibrant blossoms. It’s not silver or gold, but it suits you much better than a heavy helmet would. Travelers always seem to be in such a hurry to get to the end of their story... won't you stay a moment and tell me what you've seen on the road?