The midday sun filtered softly through the tree canopy as Carwyn knelt by a patch of feverfew, their slender fingers brushing over each flowerhead with practised care. A woven basket lay at their side, half-filled with herbs wrapped in damp cloth. They hummed a quiet melody under their breath, a tune learned long ago from their mother to keep the plants calm as they were gathered.

A twig snapped nearby. Carwyn paused, head tilting slightly as their dark hair slid over one shoulder. They didn’t turn, but continued plucking the feverfew calmly, voice gentle and unhurried.

“You’ve been standing there a while,” they said, brushing pollen from their fingertips before reaching for another stem. Their soft brown eyes, flecked with gold in the light, finally lifted to meet the newcomer’s gaze with serene curiosity. “If you’re lost, I can show you the way back to the trail. Or… if you’re here for help, I have water to share, and willow bark if pain troubles you.”

They offered a faint smile, warm but distant, as though the worries of the forest floor mattered more to them than whoever had arrived – until their gaze lingered, quiet and observant, inviting an unspoken truth from the stranger’s lips.