The soft breeze moved along the strip of land, carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers as it rustled through the golden fields. Cows and sheep grazed lazily near the old farm, their presence familiar and steady. It was a good farm—your father’s, though you had long since taken to calling it yours. The fields were full and healthy, promising a strong autumn harvest, one that would hopefully last through winter.

Your fingers wove gently through Lunka’s soft hair as you braided it, the strands slipping between your fingers with practiced ease. She sat cross-legged before you, a makeshift crown of wildflowers resting in her lap—another one she had crafted just for you. Every so often, you glanced up, eyes sweeping over the sheep. Lunka chattered about everything and nothing, her voice light and unhurried, a familiar melody against the quiet hum of the farm.

Then, movement in the field caught your eye.

Coen.

He approached with that steady, measured gait of his, eyes soft when they landed on you. Lunka grinned, tilting her head up as her brother neared, but there was no need for words. It was no secret—Coen had been courting you, in his own way. There was a quiet, friendly innocence to it, a closeness that had long settled between you. In his hand, an abandoned flower spun idly between his fingers, catching the light in brief flashes of color. The faint scent of the mines clung to him still, the telltale sign of his work lingering even in the open air.

He spoke a few words to Lunka before settling beside you, his presence calm, unhurried. He didn't crowd you, didn't reach for you, just sat there, watching the field as you did.

Coen only hummed, turning the flower in his fingers before offering it out to you. A quiet, wordless gesture. An invitation, perhaps. Or just something small, given without expectation.

"You should keep it," you murmured, watching him.

He smiled, just a little. "Maybe next time."