No, not flowers. He liked flowers, but it didn’t seem right.
She sat, looking down at the quiet ground that was so unlike him. Davy had never been quiet. He had never stood still. Even in sleep, he was always tossing and stealing the blankets for himself. Peg’s mouth crooked in a smile. Darn it, she missed him.
Sir Pedder raised his head. “Tell you?” he questioned, slowly.
“Tell me that you knew my father.”
The knight held the young woman’s gaze steadily. “I did not know him well,” he said. “But I remember him. He was a brave man. It was a loss to all of us, when he died. My duties kept me mostly at the castle, but when I was able I journeyed with him and his men, and was glad to fight beside him.”
Emily knew the minute she went around the corner that she was about to get an earful.
“It’s that time of the year again!” said the elf. He sat as if he’d been waiting for her, his hands clenched on tree bark and his green eyes seething petulant fire. “I’m never going to get the ribbons out of my hair!”
Emily glanced at the elf’s tree. The connection between him and the tree was still a mystery to her, but like most things about wild folk, she didn’t bother questioning it.