Lily took to the morning's milking with uncharacteristic gusto. She was out by the shed close to an hour before sunrise and even the yaks turned to her with surprise when she rubbed down their hairy flanks, cooing them gently into life before beginning to tease the milk out from their udders. It wasn't that she was especially tardy on other days, but after taking care of Jennie and Victor, tending to the yaks, churning butter and loading up her father's cart for his daily journey to the imperial trading post, she was as good as dead and could only roll out of bed a half-hour after the rooster crowed. 

But today was different. Today was special. Today was the day Ansel was coming back from the war. 

Lily had gone through quite the emotional journey over the six months since that day in Carlewe Clearing when she let Ansel kiss her for the first time and he whispered into her ear that he would never forget her. She didn't know what she was worried about more: whether he'd perish on the bloody Desjardese fields or whether he'd find some exotic maiden out there in the wide world and forget all about her. But his letters never stopped coming and, if everything, they only grew more ardent with every passing month. To Lily's surprise, her replies took on that same impassioned, love-lorn tone and she did little to dissuade his fantasies of every little thing he wanted to do to her when she got back. She didn't encourage them outright in her replies, that wouldn't be proper, instead choosing to say nothing of those fevered paragraphs and showering him with inane details about life back at the village and how much she missed him. But she'd head out in her loneliest nights, bleary-eyed with fatigue and yet burning with desire, to read those letters out by the moonlight and even in the highland autumn chill, her forehead would be damp with sweat.  

Ansel's last latter was disappointingly succinct. No additional details, no delirious dreams about her raven locks and creamy-soft skin. Just an invitation to be at the Clearing before dawn. The cart all loaded up, Lily sneaked back into the house, taking delicate steps along the most solid of the floorboards to make sure her father and siblings wouldn't awaken. She wrapped her red cloak around her smock and kirtle and then emerged into the dark. 

The woods were suffused with that early-morning smell, birdsong beginning in reluctant starts and stops as the forest slowly rolled back into life. Every little sound, scent and crunch of leaves underfoot seemed somehow sweeter and Lily struggled to hide the dimpled smile tugging at her pink cheeks as she picked her way through the side-paths that led to the clearing. Carlewe Woods was marked out on any map and an important passage for pilgrims making their way to the Holy Mountain of the Elves, or about as close to that event zone as they could manage if they wanted to eat of its blessings. The village always had its fair share of travellers coming and going because of that and Old Bartholomew's Inn rarely had any room. But Carlewe Clearing, for which the woods had gotten its name, was less well-trafficked or even known. It was supposed to be an old surface-spring for dryads and nymphs, who would come out every solstice to trade and revel with the forest elves and humans in the old age. But those days had long since disappeared. Ansel told her all about that, in what in itself felt like another age. 

Lily realised with a giggle that her private dark age was over and that her slice of spring had come back to her unharmed. 

The clearing was empty and so Lily's first instinct was to look up to the trees, to see if those familiar lanky legs were dangling from the lower branches. The first few months, she'd come here often and sit silently by the dryad's pool, remembering every little detail about him. By and by, she stopped torturing herself that way and so she returned this time with fresh eyes. The sun was probably just cresting past the mountains and it'd take a little longer for the light to penetrate the thick canopy, leaving the clearing drenched in a dark, dewy fog. Lily was about to step forward when she felt calloused hands grip her around the eyes, suddenly blocking out all sight. She yelped and struggled against the strong hands holding her in, before the scent of her assailant reached her nose. She instantly softened in his grasp. That scent was unchanged. 

"I hate you..." she muttered with a tear-streaked smile as she turned around to face Ansel. She'd expected his eyes to grow weary or sad, as men's eyes often did when they came back from the war, but his eyes still sparkled with that same old twinkle. The rest of him, though, was barely recognizable. His chin and lips were shadowed by a couple of days' worth of stubble and he looked taller. His shoulders were broader and his arms under his leathers and cloak were now ropey and taut. "You... you've grown." 

"So have you, flower." Ansel's green eyes were absolutely ravishing her as much as she was him. Her cheeks instantly flushed as she watched him take her in, his eyes utterly leisurely in the early morning light as the flitted from her lips to her neck to the swell of her breasts under her kirtle, even parting her cloak a little to get a closer look and then back up to meet her eyes with his smile even wider. There probably wouldn't be any other man in the world she'd permit to look at her the way he was looking at her right now and the words from his love letters she'd about as well as memorised were playing through her head as she gulped. He stroked her cheek, his thumb rough and warm against her skin. "You've bloomed." 
 
Lily didn't know what to say, so she giggled and pushed him away, cloak billowing around her as she spun around and jogged to the edge of the pool. As streaks of sunlight shot through the trees, little patterns of light danced on the surface of the water. Her heart was beating in her chest so loud she could hear the blood rushing against her ears. She sat next to the tree and he sat beside her as they always did. She felt awkward, all of a sudden. She felt shy. Ansel placed his hand over hers and she intertwined her fingers with his. 

"So..." she said, finally. "What did you bring for me?"

"Ah." He smiled, reaching into his satchel to pull out a little velvet pouch. From it, he removed a glimmering locket of vines and lilies carved in white gold and some marbled material she had never seen before, all tied to a fine chain. She gasped. "It's Rahethian," he said, placing it in her hand. 

"You went all the way to Rahethe?" 

"No, flower, don't be silly." She undid her cloak and turned around for him, another gasp of air hissing through her teeth as his fingers pulled away her dark curls to reveal her neck. His hands were gentle as they tied the clasp of the chain behind her, the locket resting against her front like it was always there.  "But I came across a Rahethian smith off near Emry coast." 

"It's... it's a spoil?" 

"From his smithy and trinket shop, not off some sweet Desjardese girl's neck, Lily. Don't worry." 

She turned around, her dark eyebrows raised incredulously. "So the Desjardese girls are sweet, are they?" 

"None so sweet as my Helathian Lily." Ansel's eyes twinkled as he cupped her cheeks in his hands. "Now, what did you bring for me?" 

Lily flushed again and she looked over to the pool to avoid meeting the intensity of his eyes. "We did have a deal, didn't we?" 

"A few battle scars here and there but on the whole, I'm none the worse for wear. I'm home safe." 

He didn't say anything, but her end of the bargain was implicit. She placed her hands over his own around her face and moved them down lower, past her neck and over her chest. Lily's eyes met his. "Ansel Volthyl, brave soldier of the realm," she whispered. "Welcome home."