The meadow was always your favourite spot. It was there, the old oak tree in the woods, or down by the creek near the outskirts of Twelve. It was where he found you today, amid the flowers, singing to yourself in that clear voice he loved so much.

An attempt to sneak up on you was unfortunately interrupted by one of your geese biting at his ankles. He yelped at the sudden pain, tripped, then tumbled into your arms, where you both fell onto the grass.

His boyishly handsome face loomed above you. “Hello, my love.” He grins. “It seems your geese are well.”