Commission for AshK9coyote

Somewhere high in the mountains, beneath the song of the wind and the cries of alpine birds, she gathers healing herbs, her slender fingers sifting through them like threads of fate. In every scent — a memory; in every petal — an echo of his voice, soft and distant, like a forgotten melody. Her hair dances in the breeze, catching the chill of the air, rich with the bitterness of wormwood and the honeyed warmth of St. John's wort. Here, amid the whispering grasses and rustling leaves, each breath of the earth reminds her that waiting is also part of the journey.

In her gaze lies a quiet longing — bright and clear, like the sky above the peaks, where clouds drift like weightless thoughts. She feels him near, moving along unseen trails between stone and root, guided by the same wind that stirs her cloak. Their reunion is not a matter of time, but a continuation of the path, where love is woven into the rhythm of the wild. And as flowers fill her basket and the mountains hold their shared silence, she knows: home is the place where their paths will cross again.

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