Flowers of Affection

With the full swing of the summer heat slowing the horses and the ascent of the afternoon sun making Lysandar grow lethargic, the group decided it best to wait until dusk before continuing. They dismounted their horses, stripped them of their tack, and belled them before releasing the group to graze in the meadow surrounding them. With Myri's bossy little mare, they had no worries about the horses going too far without hobbles, for as soon as the other two began to wander, she quickly brought them back with a series of angry nips. As mean as the creature could be, she at least was a blessing when it came to keeping the other two horses in line.

Myri herself wasted no time settling beneath the sole tree in the field. Not bothering to unpack, she curled up in a tight ball near the base with one arm beneath her head and the other over her face shielding her eyes from the rays of light that managed to trickle through the leaves. Her bird swooped down, landing near her with a gentle thump. It hopped once, closing the distance between them. With its dark, barred wings folded neatly against its back, it bent down and chittered something into her long ear. Myri made no indication whether she heard it or not.

Lysandar unpacked his bedroll and laid it on the other side of the tree, giving Myri her space. "Are you going to sleep?" He called to Erasmus who still hadn't moved from from the spot where he had released his horse.

Erasmus shook his head.

"At least get out of the sun and come stand vigil near me," Lysandar said, patting the dirt beside him.

Erasmus obediently came. His dropped ears twitched as he listened to the gentle jingle of the horses' bells, but he kept his odd eyes locked on Lysandar, watching the man undress for bed. Lysandar stripped himself down to his tunic and trousers. It didn't matter how many times Erasmus had seen it. The simple ritual. The brief glimpse of skin and bare muscle normally hidden from sight. The attentive way in which his lover arranged his things. All of it served to endear Erasmus all the more.

Lysandar set aside his disrobed belongings, he folded his orange cloak neatly and rested his gloves on top of it, and laid his leather boots and woven belt carefully positioned to the side. He flashed Erasmus a smile, showing off his sharp teeth. Erasmus parroted it, getting the form of the gesture but missing the charm, making it more of a grimace than an actual grin. He earned himself a kiss anyway.

"Goodnight, dear," Lysandar said as he laid down on his back and rested his clasped hands on his still chest.

"Goodnight," Erasmus whispered. Although he knew Lysandar no longer truly slept, Erasmus still waited until he deemed it an appropriate amount of time for one to have fallen asleep before he wandering off. It only felt polite to do so.

Erasmus stuck close to the tree, never letting it fully leave his sight. Like water, the tall meadow grass parted as he moved through it. A light breeze blew. The sea of grass swayed in gentle rolling waves, swishing and shimmering a golden green in the sunlight. He stopped, struck by some distant, half-formed emotion that came coupled with tangled old memories all brought on by the gentle sway. Erasmus removed his gloves, tucked them into his belt, and ran a blade of grass between his fingers. Stiff and slightly rough, it caught his bare flesh with an ever-so-slight friction.

As he trailed his fingers through the tall grass, Erasmus hummed a few repetitive bars of a song he only half remembered, something to do with herding and the trickling passage of time, a rhyme that his mother used to sing. Sometimes it bothered him that he couldn't recall early memories clearly anymore. Eons of decades stripped down old comforts to threadbare recollections, flashes of moments, sounds, and sensations and nothing more. But now, pleasantly, wasn't one of those times. He felt alive standing in the warmth of the afternoon in a place that felt comfortably familiar even though he'd never visited it before now. His friends were tired but happy. And, most importantly of all, they were safe, a well deserved brief moment of calm after weeks of trouble. He felt as alive as he could be. Or maybe he simply felt happy as well. The name of the sensation didn't matter. The emotion was good. Life was pleasant. This was something to be celebrated.

With a new goal, Erasmus circled the area, pausing now and then to pick a long-stemmed field flower until he had a thick bundle that he could barely fit in the crook of his arm. Far more than needed if things went perfectly. Enough to spare if they did. He gave a contented sigh as he returned to Lysandar's side and sat beside him.

Erasmus got to work. With faint recollections from his childhood and the muscle memory that came with it, he braided the stems together, forming woven crowns, wreathes, and knitted clumps out of the yellow flowers. Each completed piece he arranged with care around Lysandar, decorating his resting figure.

Lysandar momentarily opened an eye to admire Erasmus's handiwork. He chuckled. "Dressing me like it's my funeral."

Erasmus hummed in agreement. "Yellow flowers to match your eyes too." He finished the last of his work, a bundle of flowers intertwined into a bouquet, and placed it upon Lysandar's hands.

The man cracked a small smile and set the flowers to the side. "I much rather hold you than flowers." He opened his arms wide. Erasmus crawled into his embrace, resting his face against Lysandar's chest.

Erasmus rubbed his face against the soft fabric of Lysandar's shirt. "If I sleep, will you stay alert enough to listen?"

He kissed the top of his lover's head. "I will," Lysandar promised.