The fall breeze began its life somewhere off to the east; so far off that perhaps it couldn’t even be created in the imagination of the fair elf that felt it against her pale face.
There were so many aspects of the world that she wondered and thought about, although she had spent so many decades in it. Her imagination raced, only to be inspired by the wind that gently blew through her golden hair, stirring the colorful flowers in the basket she carried.

Yomeniampa was quiet that day, with barely a soul even wandering. She could only hope that she could attract some customers who were willing to buy her flowers. It would not be bold to say that this was a desperate move on her part. For it was at this time every year that flower sales dwindled; as the golden leaves began to fall from the trees. Of course, that couldn’t be blamed on anyone in particular, except maybe the earth itself. She had to squeeze the last little bit of profit out of her flowers before winter enveloped the land.
To her, the seasons had always been the not-so-gentle reminder that the earth wasn’t always so…gentle. The elf always witnessed it’s almost cruel demeanor every winter, as her once beautiful garden was brutally overcome and defeated by the suffocating white blanket that covered it. But on the other hand, it shone a little light; giving her something to look forward to when spring came.

She moved the basket up so it could rest in the crook of her arm as she lifted her skirt to ascend up a flight of stairs, being careful not to snag her dress on any twigs. The dress was a dark green, with the neckline and belt embroidered with golden leaves. Her sleeves were of sheer chiffon, and glided along as she walked. In her hair, she wore a silver barrette, and on her neck, a small silver chain. Everything she donned was something simple, but she knew how to coordinate articles of clothing so tastefully, that she had often been mistaken for a woman of royalty, or noble blood. But she was far from either of them.

Finally, she found a decent spot, where it seemed she’d be lucky to attract even three customers. Her chances looked slim.
But the elf showed no dissatisfaction, nor any sign of frustration. She kept on her smile and knelt in the grass, beginning to take individual flowers out of her basket and arranging them neatly on the ground before her. She hummed a simple tune as she completed her task, and looked eagerly about for any passers-by.


When she least expected it, a small young elf girl with curly orange hair came her way, and stopped to look at her wares, wide-eyed.
“Goodness ma’am, these are the loveliest flowers I have seen in ages!” The young elf exclaimed. “My mother is a florist as well, you see.” She looked around, and then leaned closer, whispering. “But these flowers of yours would definitely put hers to shame!” She placed her finger on her lips, signaling for a secret. The young elf knelt down beside the elf dressed in green, and studied the flowers more closely, nodding her head every once and awhile.

“Oh my, I’ve just remembered! How terribly rude I am! I’ve forgotten to introduce myself! My name is Nithwen, ma’am.” She said in a hurry. The older elf smiled with understanding.
“It’s quite alright, young Nithwen. We all forget sometimes. My name is Farienthiel.” She took Nithwen’s small hand and shook it. “But you may call me simply Farien.” Nithwen grinned, and picked up a white lily from the grass before Farien. “Lady Farien, have you any seeds of this flower? I would like to buy these for my mother, and give her something new to plant in her own garden.” she asked in her tiny voice.
“Why of course, my dear.” Farien picked a small brown packet out of her basket and handed them to the little elven girl, who in turn handed her the four bronze coins required for the purchase.
“Now don’t worry your dear mother by dawdling, Nithwen.” Farien said with a wink.
“I promise I won’t, lady Farien! Good day to you!” and she skipped off happily, her curly locks waving behind her.

For what seemed like an eternity, the birds were the only company Farien had. So she took a small velvet bag from the very bottom of her basket, and sprinkled the seeds that it carried out onto the grass. The birds seemed to notice right away, and one by one, more birds came to join the feast. They were as polite as birds come, and kept their distance from the flowers.
The elf began to hum again, and she looked bright and cheerful as she did on any given day. Because despite the lack of productivity that the rest of this day seemed it would bring, life was good.

The air and a slight chill to it, but it was not cold per se. It was a pleasent chill, one that refeshed the lungs of those who inhaled it, making them feel awake and rejuvenated. In his quarters, General Ancalë had just finished getting ready for his patrol. His dark brown hair held back from his face with a circlet of black, falcon feathers and rubies at each end. He wore his white and gold cloak in case it got too cold, the one with the ornate elvish rune for 'L' over his heart. He wore it open and the golden hilt of a broadsword stuck out noticeably. Threnody's Spite was at the back of the belt, concealed from all. He wore his uniform underneath; the battle-garb of the Guards. Ancalë pushed open his door and stepped outside, breathing in the brisk air of the coming Autumn. The golden leaves all around him reflected the light from the golden sun, making everything around him that much more beautiful.

His soft elven boots making quiet noise as he stepped down the spiral staircase, taking the occaisonal glance down to make sure all was going as it should. Strangely enough, there was little activity going on in the city this day. The Guard sighed once, rolling his eyes at how slow the day was going. The swift pattering of a small child's running caught his ear and, the elf fixed his eyes ahead. The familiar orange curls of a little elf girl named Nithwen, who always respected the guards when she saw them, her father being one, was skipping on in his direction.
"Hello, Nithwen!" he called out to her. Extending his arms and dropping to one kneww, elbowing his sword hilt out of the way. She ran straight into him, wrapping him in a hug as big as her tiny arms could give.
"Ancalë!"
"How are you?"
"Just great! You should go visit the pretty lady down the stairway, she's selling flowers and she's really nice!" She pulled away and looked at him, a big smile on her face.
"Okay, I'll do that. Tell your father I said hello, don't keep him worrying now."
And with a giggle, she set back off towards her home.
Ancalë smiled as he started his way back down the stairs, thinking about what Nithwen had said. When he reached the landing, he looked over at the pretty blonde haired elf with the basket of flowers, humming softly to herself in a honey voice.
"Good afternoon, you must be the pretty flower girl I've heard so much about." he said with a bow of his head.

Farien peered to her right, noticing a pair of boots standing beside her on the ground. As her eyes began to travel upwards, heading towards the face of the man who wore them, he spoke up.
" Good afternoon, you must be the pretty flower girl I've heard so much about." and he bowed his head politely. His voice was smooth and gentle, and he spoke in a polite tone. Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink in her modesty, and she rose quickly to greet this new stranger, a smile on her face. When she straightened up, and looked at his face, she noticed his pointed ears. An elf, of course.

“ And the same to you, sir.” She curtsied, bowing her head in return “And yes, I am the florist. My name is Farienthiel, sir, but you may call me Farien if you wish.” Farien made sure to address the elf with respect, as she took notice of his noble-looking clothing, and the large sword slung from his belt. She guessed that he was probably someone of importance in the city

When she took a good look at him, Farien was surprised to find that he reminded her of someone, though the resemblance was more to do with his noble posture, and politeness in the way he had approached her, rather than his overall appearance. She smiled at the thought.
For a moment, Farien let her mind wander through her memories, each one delicately painted with emotions; both pleasant...and not so pleasant. Suddenly, she broke out of her thoughts, suddenly aware that she was staring at him. Her cheeks turned pink again, and she immediately looked away.
“ Oh...I’m sorry, I...lost my train of thought. My apologies, sir.” Farien quickly turned to her flowers, trying to cover the awkwardness of the previous moment by changing the subject.

“ I...don’t suppose I can interest you in some flowers...could I, sir?” She turned her head and looked at the elf again, this time with a questioning, and slightly disbelieving expression. Farien couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.

“And the same to you, sir.” said the elf maiden with a brief curtsy and bow of her head. “And yes, I am the florist. My name is Farienthiel, sir, but you may call me Farien if you wish."
The guard took note of the pinkish hue her cheeks took on at the word 'pretty'.
Ancalë was always relatively blunt when it came to his word choices, and he always complimented to the best of his ability. Not one given to flattery, so much as chivalry, he never crossed the flirtatious line.
Her eyes went distant for a moment or two when she looked him full in the face, but when her cheeks became roses once more, she spoke up.
"Oh- I’m sorry, I... lost my train of thought. My apologies, sir."

Before Ancalë even had the chance to say, "Not at all, Lady Farien." she changed the subject, apparently feeling quite awkward. Just why, Ancalë could not quite discern. To him, it was just another friendly greeting, as per usual, he tried to make the lives of the elves in the forest city as pleasent as he could.
“I - don't suppose I can interest you in some flowers... could I, sir?” she asked him.
Smiling warmly at her, he cocked his head to the side.
"That will be enough of that. There's no need to be calling me sir all the time. My name is Ancalë, General Ancalë of the city Guards, but you can omit the title, just the name ought to be enough to suffice." he grinned again.
"Just what kind of flowers are you selling my Lady Farien?" he asked as he extended his hand out towards her.

(Eep, sorry about the crap post, I don't really have alot of time right now.)

Smiling warmly at her, he cocked his head to the side.
"That will be enough of that. There's no need to be calling me sir all the time. My name is Ancalë, General Ancalë of the city Guards, but you can omit the title, just the name ought to be enough to suffice." he grinned again.
Farien tried to suppress it, but she blushed again, she was surprised at herself, for she normally wasn’t this timid.
“Of course, Ancalë. You see, it’s in my nature to address strangers in such a manner. It’s the way my mother and father taught me so many decades ago, and I hold to it in their honour.” She grinned, laughing quietly as she remembered the day her parents were killed. Farien sighed aloud.

"Just what kind of flowers are you selling my Lady Farien? " he asked as he extended his hand out towards her. Farien was cast out of her thoughts when Ancalë spoke again. She knelt down and turned to her flowers and picked out three in particular. She held them up with her right hand for him to see.
“These are the three rarest blossoms that I carry. It took me sixty years to acquire the skill to grow them, with much trial and error. ” She grinned. “You look like someone who would be most interested in them, as they are so unique. ” With her free hand, Farien pointed to the first.
“This flower is called Curanlóth, the Crescent Moon Flower. This flower’s bud is always closed, except for when the night will bring a crescent moon. ” The flower was shut inside a tear-drop shaped bud, which had small leaves draping off it.
The elf set it down on the grass before her, and then pointed to the second one.

“Now this blossom is very special to me. It is the Narlóte, or flame blossom. Like the Tigerlily, this flower only emerges after a fire, but only if another of its kind was burnt. Then it will grow in the exact spot where the ashes of that other flower were left. ” Farien stroked the bright orange and red petals lovingly as she continued.
“This flower didn’t take me as long to grow, in fact, It was my mother who first introduced me to this flower. She had discovered how to grow it before I…” Her expression lost some of its cheerfulness. “But she and my father were killed in a fire that destroyed our home. The first blossom grew where one of my mother’s had burnt, and I was able to grow more afterwards. ”
Farienthiel looked up at Ancalë before setting the Narlóte down, and pointing to the last flower in her hand.

“This is an Alfirin, or Immortal Flower. It first blooms right in the middle of winter, and will live for eternity, even if it has been cut from the root, as long as it is well taken care of. ” The flower was a large white blossom, and each petal was blue, white, or light gold. And they had a strange silver lustre to them, and the blossom seemed to sparkle, reflecting the sunlight that managed to shine down through the canopy of leaves high over head.

[[OOC: Don't worry. I know what that's like. Don't rush yourself!]]