Soft pink petals danced in the wind as the late day sun drew long shadows across the ground. The slightest hint of pink was starting to color the horizon, playing into the beautiful display of cherry trees as far as the eye could see. A pleasant mix of distant city bustling, and the bright spirited sounds of nature in springtime created a special kind of sanctuary here. With nothing but trees, there was a taste of wild, but they grew in neat orderly rows, with well groomed branches; a refreshing taste of nature secured in the warm comfort of civilization.

In some ways, Adairn was mesmerized by the beauty and balance this place had achieved. Yet, another, more primal part of him, was disenchanted with man’s continuous attempts to inflict control on the world. It was a rather uncomfortable inner struggle, but one he was unfortunately quite accustomed to. It was in man’s nature to strive for order, but most lacked the sight to see the order already encompassing the natural world. Even for Wolves like himself, who strove to always see this, it was difficult at times. Thinking negatively of those attempting to make the world better was worse than those you would think of—there is nothing to be gained from this. Still, bitter thoughts are the hardest to keep at bay. Probably another part of man’s nature, he would guess.

Reaching out with a rough calloused hand, he caught one of those delicate petals and brought it close to his face. His own scent of sweat and wolf mixed with the bright aroma of the flower from which the petal had come. The contrast spoke to him of the very place he stood, and he pulled his hand a bit farther away. Sun darkened skin, rough with callouses, gently cupping a small delicate and velvety soft petal. Sighing deeply, he let his hand fall, the petal floating away with the next breeze. Wolf or not, he was still wore the same skin as any other man, and at the core he was no different.

Appearance wise, he was no different than a human. Tall, well built, deeply tanned skin, long dark braided hair, and hazel eyes—he looked like a man. His attire, to one who knew, could only be that of a wolf. Feet and chest bare, he only wore pants. These pants, while simple, were not entirely average. The outer seam of the pants did not exist, instead they were oddly laced with long bits of leather cord, in such a way, that a quick hard pull at the top of each side, would let the pants fall away. It was a necessity for a shifter to undress quickly, and thus shift quickly. However, to be who was unfamiliar with Wolves or perhaps shapeshifters, they were just strange pants. Like any hunter, he had a bow—unstrung—at his back with a few arrows, and a pack hanging loosely over one shoulder.

It had been shortly after midday when he had reached the edge of Nisshoki and wandered into the orchards. Time had seemed to slip by like water as he made his way through the endless trees. At times, he had walked, seeming for hours. Others, like now, he stood nearly completely still, taking in the scenery or lost in his thoughts. There was no urgency in his behavior, or his movements. There was no where in the world he needed to be, no one waiting around for him to arrive. Upon leaving his pack, he had walked away from everything and everyone that had any thought or care to his existence. It was a humbling experience that was still taking its toll.

Somewhere among the trees, a figure holding a parasol moved slowly through the rows. The bright, deep purple a stark contrast against the white and pink hues of the blooming cherry trees. Cymbel had taken the long way back to the small parcel of land he would now call home. Away from his old life in his father's household, he had spent months working in the city and wherever he could to earn enough to buy himself a place that already had preexisting structures built on it. Unfortunately all he could afford at the time was a secluded corner on the edge of a forest, with a run-down estate that had once been a homely courtyard house. When he had first arrived, it looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Nature had overtaken the building's courtyard and even parts of the roof was missing. Slowly but surely, he was trying to restore it to its former glory. The only part that had remained unchanged was the large overgrown peach tree in the central courtyard, stretching up higher than thirty feet. When one sat in the higher branches, the entire house could be seen. It was a more private way to enjoy nature without having to leave the comfort of the estate. 

After spending hours tirelessly working on the house's restoration, he was taking a break from the daily struggle against weeds and dust. The house's wooden floors had remained undamaged thankfully, but without anyone else to help him he spent at least three hours just cleaning them. Weeding the central courtyard was backbreaking labor, as many of them had went undisturbed for years and were now deeply rooted. The first few weeks he had spent doing so left him aching all over and exhausted. Now he only had to rest every three days, which meant his constitution was improving bit by bit. To fund his repairs, he quickly learned to save money where he could, and to try to reduce his expenses. Most of his meals consisted of the cheapest he could find at the city markets, and soon he turned to harvesting wild vegetables instead of purchasing those sold at stalls. 

Right now he was meticulously searching the area for any tender greens that were available this season. He had to do this everyday, either in the early morning or a few hours before dusk. Now with the change of the seasons he had to avoid staying outside during noon, lest he suffer heatstroke. Even with his parasol it was easy for him to find himself overheating if he wasn't in direct shade. Having made Ataiyo his new home, he learned to adopt the empire's cultural customs. His regular clothes were exchanged for a light cotton kimono dyed blue and his long silver-white hair was tied more loosely. He still wore his boots, however. He didn't trust leaving his feet exposed with sandals unless he was in his house. Even in the warm afternoon light, his complexion was pale. Instead of his skin darkening, it would burn when the sun's rays were especially strong. After dusk, his natural appearance often led the locals to mistake him for a ghost, so he had to use glamour spells more often. But when he was by himself that wasn't necessary.

With his attention directed towards the ground, he was unaware of anyone else in the area. The gentle rustling of his boots against the wild grass revealed his presence as he pushed away leaves to get a better look at potential edibles.  

Soft footsteps on the carpeted ground pulled Adairn from his thoughts. Turning his head just a touch to the right, he listened closely. Certainly footsteps, unhurried, and the rustling of clothing. An opportune shift of the wind brought a mostly unfamiliar scent to him. It was most certainly not human, but some form of man he could not identify, yet frustratingly familiar. Curiosity piqued, he padded in quick, but unhurried, steps toward the stranger. In the hours he had spent roaming the orchards, this was the first he had heard or scented another person. There were probably millions of reasons why anyone would be there at any given time, and so it was probably not truly unusual. In all likelihood, the true anomaly was the fact this was his first encounter with another being.

A few short minutes, and the figure came into view. Having not been in the area long, it was still a strange sight to the wolf. At this point, he was still entirely unaware of the reason for carrying an umbrella when there was no rain. However, while kimonos were still entirely new and foreign to him, the beautify of them was apparent. The way the light played of the shimmering silk as the fabric folded and moved like water was stunning. For a moment, he simply watched the play of fabric in the newly fading light. It was in admiring that he noticed how pale and delicate the skin was—this too was foreign to him. Of course, he was well aware there were many men with naturally white skin, but to have skin so untouched by the sun was a wonder. The hair as well! Over his life he had met a few wolves with hair qualifying as blonde, and since he started his travels he had seen several shades lighter. This, however, was entirely new to him.

So much of what he found himself faced with in this potential encounter was beyond his known world, that it took him a bit longer than he was comfortable with to realize what this man was doing. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he moved towards the figure. Going to one knee, a couple of paces in front and to the left of the figure, he splayed his fingers through the grass, revealing a good sized cluster of wild onion sprouts.

“Not so close to the trees.” Adairn’s voice was deep, but gentle. His accent was distinct, but clear. He spoke with slow rhythmic cadence, like reciting poetry. “Not enough sun for smaller things to grow.”

Mostly, he did not want to startle this man, he only wanted to help. Yet, there was still just enough pup in him, that he hoped for a bit of a start. It was not a nice thing, and if his mother were around he would have been cuffed for it. Yet, he still found himself watching the strange light man intently, for his reaction.

Cymbel had been so focused on the ground at his feet that the sudden voice startled him. He didn't jump, but he did almost drop his parasol. Fumbling for a few seconds, he finally regained a tight grasp on it again. He stopped moving, holding still as he saw the voice's source. It was a stranger, much taller and with a stronger build than his. It took him a while to unscramble his thoughts to come up with a response. Slowly standing upright, he slanted the parasol's angle as to block out the sun from his eyes. Collecting his composure, he gave a respectful slight bow to the other. Though the taller man looked much older appearance wise, Cymbel's general lack of experience matched how he looked. From a distance, the fey resembled the pale porcelain dolls sold at the city markets as his dark-colored clothing brought out a strong contrast.

When he realized what this stranger was trying to do, he replied. "Oh…Thank you very much, sir. Perhaps that would be the reason why I haven't had much luck in harvesting today." How many times had he passed by similar patches of wild greens like that? No wonder all he had to show for today's gathering were mostly dandelions, mugwort, purslane and flowering chrysanthemum. Those two in particular he recognized most easily from his knowledge of flowers. The others were more difficult to find. In his left hand was the small cloth bundle carrying the clump that he had found so far. 

The stranger before him had a hardy look about him, with a hint of wildness. Judging by his clothes, he very well could be a visitor just like how Cymbel had been some time ago. The fey then approached the spot of greens the man had revealed carefully, watching where he stepped as to avoid crushing any other potential edibles along the way. As he walked, small blooming plants began to spring up from where he had once trod, creating a trailing line of small flowers pushing themselves from the earth. But he was not aware of them, as all this time he had never thought to turn and look behind. In his carelessness in getting dressed earlier this morning, he had put on the wrong pair of boots–instead of his normal pair, he had put on the enchanted ones he had purchased back on the island of the four seasons. When placed side-by-side, the two were remarkably similar with the enchanted pair bearing thin embroidery around the edges. Said enchanted footwear had the uncanny effect of creating flower gardens with every step one took in them, a whimsical blessing the Horae fey had imparted. 

Upon reaching the onion sprouts, he knelt to the ground and gently coaxed the plants from the earthy soil, shaking off any dirt clumps that clung to the roots. Unfolding his cloth parcel, he put them together with the rest of his findings and folded it back up. Standing and adjusting his parasol's height, he asked the man who had so kindly shown him this great find: "It is a rare sight to see anyone so far out in the orchards at this time of day. Are you visiting the capital city by any chance? Many travelers have been coming through Ataiyo with the change of the seasons."

While the reaction was not quite as dramatic as he had hoped, Adairn still felt a touch of shameful satisfaction as the spectral man fumbled with his strange umbrella. What joy he did feel at the response quickly faded as seconds dragged by—guilt crept in, his almost smile fading. The last thing he had truly intended was to make this person uncomfortable. A little startle for some fun, sure, but the wolf was beginning to think he had done too much.

Upon recovering, the man stood, and Adairn found himself fascinated once more. Never in his life had he seen a being quite like this one. Every part of him was light, and flawless. He could see no blemishes, wrinkles, or sun spots—it was as if this man were not real at all. Upon wandering shops in his travels, he had seen several incredibly life-like dolls; the being standing before him was lie one of those. Even the fine clothes and ridiculous umbrella seemed ethereal, unreal.

As the wolf’s mind rolled down this train of thought, his eyes settled on the trail of flowers. So struck by the man himself, Adairn had failed to notice previously. A cool sensation slid down his spine as he took a long deep breath through his nose. There, very faint, a harsh scent, like the air after a lightening strike—magic. Having encountered enough magic through his life to sort such scents out, he guessed that the man was probably not actively casting any kind of spell—the scent would be stronger. Some kind of enchantment, then. Of what, the wolf knew far too little about magic to guess, but he could only believe it was one of the better uses of the arcane arts he had seen.

The voice of the stranger brought Adairn’s eye back up to the alabaster man. Without thought, or even full recognition to it happening, a friendly smile spread across his face, his eyes glittering and creasing a touch. “Glad to help.” He spoke softly and nodded respectfully. His attention, however, quickly returned to the ground as the man moved and continued the trail of growth. This encounter alone held a lifetime’s worth of new experience.

Remembering himself, the wolf moved a step away and stood as the stranger began to harvest the plants. Amongst shifters, the comfortable proximity of others was very different than most men, he was well aware of that, but it was easy to forget. When the man stood again, he adjusted his odd umbrella, and Adairn was unable to not look at it again until words were again spoken.

The question prompted him to glance at the sky, noting the definite lowering of the sun, before turning back. Shrugging slightly, he shifted a bit uncomfortably. This man was being polite, which the wolf appreciated, however he was unsure of exactly how to give his reasoning for being here in a short and simple way. Instead, he decided to leave things vague—he doubted this man had any real interest in such things.

“Just wandering a bit, I guess.” He shrugged again, looking up at the trees. “The trees here, they are beautiful.”There were no such trees where he came from. Far away mountains, with hardy trees, evergreen, maple, and oaks. All were beautiful in their own right, but not like these—none compared to the cherry blossoms.

Cymbel himself looked upward to admire the trees laden with pink and white blooms. Twilight was approaching, as he felt the air begin to cool slightly. The heat of the day would soon be over, and he would be able to move about more freely again until nightfall. "I see, there's no harm in simply passing through. Nevertheless, this is a beautiful place to get lost in. It is quiet and tranquil. You won't find anywhere else in Ataiyo that can rival it." He watched the branches sway gently as breezes blew off loose cherry blossoms and carried them off, sprinkling the ground with the delicate petals. Occasionally, a whole flower would drift by. Reaching above, he caught one before it escaped on the wind. Inspecting the flower, it was easy to see why the cherry blossom was so popular in Ataiyan artistic design. The simple bloom had five petals arranged like an asterisk. It was easy to draw but added beauty to everyday objects.

As the sun's rays abated, he leaned against the trunk of one of the cherry trees and closed his parasol. Feeling much more comfortable now, his shoulders relaxed as he basked in the coolness of the tree's shade. "There are many more places where nature runs wild the further you go from the capital. However, the forests become more dangerous as well. The Forest of Eyes is not far off from here. If it should catch your interest, take care not to venture too far into its depths. Although I have never seen it myself, I have heard rumors of the bamboo forest as an unending maze haunted by spirits. I can't say if the rumors are true or not, but it certainly isn't a good place to lose one's way." When he had just arrived months ago, he had taken a tour to see the area's notable locations. He had caught a brief glimpse of the Menomori Forest then, as a border of dense bamboo thickets reaching as tall as the highest trees with mist obscuring the tops of the stalks. It was vast, and foreboding. Even in broad daylight it held an eerie atmosphere. From what the locals said of the place, nothing good ever came of those who wandered into the northern portions of the sea of bamboo. There were hidden dangers both physical and intangible that laid in wait for the careless.

He refrained from speaking further on the topic, as that brought up memories of the ghost tales the older locals would say about the things that came out after the sun went down. Cymbel still wasn't sure how much of those stories were truth or fiction, but it was enough to keep him indoors–as a person who normally felt the most at ease in the moonlight. Once the repairs to his house were complete, he would look for a stonemason who would be willing to sell him those stone lanterns he had saw in the city's rock gardens. Light kept darkness at bay, and with them in place perhaps the night would be more comforting. But for now, he had to rely on his sole lantern which had served him well in this journeys out into the wilderness.

Leaving the shade of the tree's canopy he leaned his closed parasol against his shoulder. Turning to face the kindly stranger, he again gave a polite bow. "Now I will take my leave, sir. Dusk is steadily advancing, and soon it will be evening. I must return before it becomes too dark."