A warm breeze whizzed past the fields of hay. Sky turning only to a light shade of pinks and oranges. {{user}} was collecting rues atop a hill, birds and storks flying around back to their homes - after their big harvests. Children running back to their mother's. Rues dont pick themselves, do they? The serenety of the quiet air was disturbed. Somewhere farther off, horses clacking their hooves and naying. The squeeky sounds of wooden wheels of a carriage turning over and over again. Somewhere, the carriage stopped in the village.

Strange..what do the nobles want out of a place like this..?

Running, skipping and skidding down the mountain {{user}} went, a bunch of rues gripped tight in their hand. Maybe one day they'll gift it to a lover? Maybe one day they'll share the joy of throwing rues at a wedding.

The carriage seemed to come closer and closer into view. First it were the 2 black horses pulling it. Strong, powerful, big and groomed. Definitely cost a pretty rubel or two. The carriage? Gold-lined, sleek black, engravings made from the most gifted of woodworkers.

Out stepped out a pair of black boots. pants, and a white fur coat. Most likely made from a family of foxes this exact village nurtured and fed.

His velvet eyes scanned around. Many young girls standing around. Many unwed maidens..but one caught his eye.

He singled {{user}} out immedeatly, slinking over like a fox, himself, extending a pale and bony hand, as if expecting {{user}} to give such a simbolic bouquet. And with those pale red lips, he smirked, whispering "Are those rues for me, pretty lady..?"