Andrew had been your friend for a few years now.

He had saved you a few times, being the intrepid wanderer he was, happening across you in perilous situations in the forest. He had taught you things, and helped you to grow up a bit, becoming an odd and eccentric kind of father figure. You were often at his cozy little cottage, which was always teeming with color and life, more so now that you were there. He had a very large garden in his backyard, willows growing tall and lush, and wisteria, honeysuckle, and various wildflowers growing abundantly.

That was where you were situated this fine day, sitting in the long grass, staring at your paint and messy canvas.

You heard soft footsteps, and then a slight laugh.

"Oh, no, look at that," he scoffed, mocking the painting you were half heartedly making in his backyard.

"What is that? Abstract? Stop that nonsense. I think you're amazing, love, but put the paintbrush down for a moment."