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.
Her hands shook. She scraped the tough skin from the root, then cut the inner meat into thin circles. The pot was already boiling when she added the root. It was one chance in a thousand, but they had tried everything else.
She watched the plant fibers melt and disperse. The steam smelled like an unusual kind of spice, sweet.