You walk. You take time pausing and stopping. The trees give you joy and you inspect each one. She darts. From flower to rock, then back. She dashes ahead and looks to you. Running and stopping, she presses a flower in your hand and flies off to another rock. You examine the gift. You set it down. You're here for the trees. This daughter of Chloris who bolts, if she would just slow down and see the trees, watch the leaves, and feel the bark. Instead, your anthousian companion has her head dunked into a stream, and sits up giggling.
"Why can't you look at trees with me?”
"Why won't you accept my flowers?”
Neither of you have good answers.