Flowers bloomed all around.

Daisies, black-eyed Susans, clovers, milkweed, and dandelions bobbed in a light breeze that smelled of fresh growth and damp soil. Sunlight fell over low rolling hills and pooled in the dips between, and clouds were scattered in fluffy handfuls in a rich blue sky.

Two boys sat together on one of those low hills, one behind and the other in front, very patient as his hair was braided.

Amandis worked slowly, and plucked flowers from the hillside to weave them in Diadne's hair. He'd had a lot of practice, and his fingers were skilled as a result. He probably could have finished the braid in a matter of minutes. But Diadne's hair was like threads of gold, soft as down, and smooth as the fine silks that passed in caravans through their village, and so it was always the same--Amandis took his time just to savor the feeling.

The wind blew again. Birds glided overhead. Children played in the distant town, and the ghost of laughter reached their ears over the meadow. At last Amandis was satisfied and finished the braid, tying it off with a bow.

"Done," he said.

Diadne swept it over his shoulder for a look, then cast an amused glance back at him. "You put half the meadow in it. You know it's a pain picking all these out at night, right?"

"Stay at my place, I'll take them out for you."

Diadne shook his head, still with a smile. There was a moment of quiet before he spoke again and said, "When I die, plant flowers on my grave. Then my spirit will live on forever."

The words came out of nowhere, but Amandis wasn't surprised. Whimsical things like this came out of Diadne's mouth all the time, and that was just one of many things Amandis liked about him.

"What are you talking about? You can't die before me."

He wrapped Diadne in his arms and planted a kiss at the corner of his jaw.

The words were spoken lightly, but deep in his heart, Amandis prayed that they would be true.

Diadne smiled and leaned against him, and for a while, on that ordinary spring day, Heaven embraced them both.

~<>~

Two years later, side by side, two boys departed from a quiet village in the plains and joined their kingdom's military. When they reached their destination, Amandis gave Diadne a necklace with an enchanted seed burrowed in its center.

Neither of them said as much, but their idle, comfortable lives were gone, and when they locked eyes, each could tell the other knew.

~<>~

Diadne was a simple man. He thought that's what people would say if someone asked what he was like. Nothing about him was exceptional, save maybe for his hair, but that had all been cut at his shoulders.

He liked flowers, springtime, and was very fond of honey. The only other thing he was very animated about--and he thought people would also say this if asked--was not a thing but actually a person, the man he'd grown up alongside. Amandis.

Right now, Amandis's blood soaked his clothes.

It was slick, sticky, and cooled all too quickly in the snowfall. His hand, clutched around Amandis's right side, was already stained red and numb. Though in truth, he wasn't sure whose blood had painted it, nor whether the numbness was due to the cold night air or blood loss. His other hand was only in slightly better condition, and the only sensation left there was pain in his joints from keeping an iron grip on Amandis's wrist.

Side by side, with his arm around his friend's waist and Amandis's over his shoulders, Diadne carried them both through the thickening snow. He'd shed his mortal agony somewhere behind them. He was hardly better off than Amandis, but all he felt was a deep chill, and a fatigue he knew would bring his last rest.

He couldn't say why he was going to the trouble of dragging Amandis through the snow, away from the battlefield. They'd both known that someday they would die in battle and be left to rot on the fields of war. It was their fate, their duty as soldiers.

Maybe it was just that he thought that that fate was far too cruel for someone he'd loved for so long.

If possible, he would've wanted Amandis to live a long life, one full of luxury and free of hardship, and with many people to mourn his death when it came, gently and quietly, to whisk him away in the night. Or to at least die painlessly, in a meadow under the spring sun, as if he were only nodding off for a nap. He'd always loved to do that.

But now that he could feel his friend's life draining out on his side, Diadne found that there was no storm in his heart. No monsoon to pour from him in strangled sobs and searing tears. There was a lake, perhaps. A vast, unending grief, too deep to perceive the bottom.

But it was peaceful. He thought maybe that's because he was dying too. That, at least, gave him a wisp of joy.

They passed into a little antre, where there was shelter from the snow. Diadne helped Amandis to sit against the rough stone.

A rattling sigh escaped Amandis's lips. How familiar that sigh was, how horrid it was now. When Amandis spoke, his voice was wet and congealed.

"What a shame." He coughed faintly, and red tinted his pale lips. "If I'd made it home from this. . ."

His gaze seemed distant, but he blinked then and shook his head. "Hey, Diadne, let's meet again next time, yeah? Maybe. . .if I'm lucky, you can be mine then."

Diadne smiled. "Next time."

It was a vow, even though he knew there was no way either of them could keep it.

Amandis smiled back for a brief second before he was overcome with harsh coughs. Blood welled in his mouth and dripped from his chin. These were his last moments.

Gently, Diadne took Amandis's face in his hands, and for the last time, he kissed lips that were already cold.

Amandis breathed his last with the ghost of joy on his face.

Diadne went back into the snowfall and stumbled on.

For minutes, or for hours. After however long, he reached the edge of a wood, and the last of his strength faded. He fell into the snow, closed his eyes, and discovered that peace wasn't the right word for how he felt. Acceptance would be a better word.

But there was still a bitter regret within him that in the end, he was dying alone, an unbelievable distance from his family and friends.

That was the last thought he had time for. In the cold, still night, his breath scattered and disappeared.

Next to him, lying on the snow, his pendant lit with a soft glow and unfurled a sprout.

At the edge of the woods near a flourishing trade town, there was a shrub.

He was by no means a notable shrub. About the size of a healthy young melon, with ordinary leaves and ordinary branches. He did have some nice white flowers, and bees would sometimes rest on their petals, take some of his pollen, and fly away. He liked bees very much, and butterflies as well. Springtime was his favorite because the bees and butterflies came the most then. Sometimes he even got to raise the butterflies' young and feed them on his ordinary leaves. That, he thought, was quite a special thing when one was by no means a notable shrub.

For a good while, the woods were quiet, and this little shrub lived a peaceful, routine life. He sheltered birds and squirrels, raised caterpillars, and slept in the winters, dreaming of spring to come.

One day, when the caterpillars had just hatched and begun to munch on his tender new leaves, the woods were loud.

It wasn't because of the animals, or because of the plants. In fact, this racket had chased away all the critters of the forest and caused the plants to shut their ears tightly.

The shrub was a curious shrub. He got up and walked into the forest.

He was notable in that way, he guessed. In this wood, there were only a few other beings like him who could leave their roots, but they were all far older than he. Probably, they knew what this racket was about.

He walked a while. The noise died after some time, but he felt something in its absence. A vibration, or a pressure. It grew louder, or heavier.

Near the pond where the animals liked to drink, there was a creature sitting on the stone slab.

It was strange. He'd never seen anything like it before. It almost looked like him--it was the same shape, but this creature was colored strangely. It had no leaves, flowers, or bark. It muttered to itself and threw small stones into the pond, churning its surface into chaos.

He stood behind a tree and peeked out only enough to observe this odd new being. As if winter had suddenly come back, all of his sap felt frozen, cold from the inside. He shivered and made a soft noise.

The creature's head whipped up. His first instinct was to be still, as a shrub should be.

His second was to pelt through the forest back to his roots. It was this which his body obeyed, and when his thoughts caught up, he was already sprinting away.

Behind him, the creature crashed through brush and knocked into trees. It called out to him to wait. He ran faster.

He had spent many springs, summers, and autumns in these woods. He was familiar with every inch of its floor, and before long, the creature's loud, clumsy chase was behind him. It faded further and further. He reached his roots and retreated back into them, once more becoming an ordinary shrub.

A short time later, the creature stumbled out of the fringe of the forest and stopped. It panted for breath and bent slightly, hands on knees.

"What. . .what the hell. . ."

It was very winded. He thought maybe this creature was usually lazy and didn't move much. But he thought that too was probably wrong, since lazy creatures were also quiet and didn't make so much noise.

It recovered its breath and stood straight again, scanned the plains beyond the woods, and raked a hand through the chestnut-colored hair upon its head. Then it cupped its hands around its mouth and shouted, "Hey! Where'd you go? Come back!"

His leaves quivered. What a fearsome being this thing was.

Its gaze fell on him again, and he stilled at once. Even his sap stopped in his branches.

It walked closer and crouched down. "No way. . ."

It reached out with a hand, almost hesitant, and tried to touch one of his branches. He pricked its finger with a thorn instead.

It drew its hand back with a sharp, indignant "Ow!"

And then it sat for a while and watched him.

"Hey, can you. . .hear me?" Its voice was threaded with both uncertainty and self-doubt. "Are you a. . .a faerie or something?"

He was still. So this creature was curious too. He relaxed a bit as a breeze blew through, ruffling his leaves and laughing through his branches.

The creature stood up again with a scoff. "What am I even doing? A faerie. I really am an idiot."

He stirred. Now that he had calmed some, this creature actually didn't seem very scary. And anyway, it certainly didn't seem interested in hunting a shrub.

So he crept out from his roots and, squatted behind a nearby tree, poked his head out.

The creature was still standing beside his shrub. Its back was to him.

He deliberated, then softly asked, "What kind of creature are you?"

The creature jolted, then turned around. For a long interval, it was quiet and still, its mouth hanging open. At last, it said, "What do you mean, 'what kind of creature am I'? I'm a boy."

"Oh." He looked at this creature again. "I'm also a boy. But you don't look like a plant."

"You. . .What? I'm not a plant. I'm human." The human boy looked at him too. He seemed baffled. "What are you?"

He came out from behind the tree. "I'm a shrub."

". . ."

Another long silence passed. Then the human boy said, "You're a dryad."

He considered this. It seemed more-or-less correct--though he was a bush and not a tree. "Mm-hm."

". . .Do you have a name?"

He considered this as well. Then he shook his head. "Do you?"

"Yeah. Audric."

"Audric." He said it slowly. It had a nice taste. Then he asked, "What's a human?"

And that was how they met.

Seven years had passed since then.

Years were an odd concept to him. Plants marked time by winters, which of course were each a year(ish) apart. But Audric's birthday came every year, and he'd quickly learned that birthdays were important to humans.

Thus, he made sure to count each day as it passed, and every three hundred, sixty-five sunrises, he said happy birthday to Audric and gave him a crown he'd made with his flowers. This was something Audric had also taught him, and it seemed to bring him joy when he received the crowns. So he made them every year. He also let Audric braid his hair each year, because that seemed to make him happy too. In fact, it happened many times each year. He didn't know what purpose the braiding served, but Audric liked to do it, so he tolerated it regardless.

Today was Audric's eighteenth birthday.

The sun rose up over the forest and shined onto his leaves. His sap warmed, and he lay down in the meadow under the full sunlight. He waited for Audric, weaving a crown. This year, he decided to add in some flowers from the meadow as well. He thought Audric would like it better if it had more color.

He finished the crown before long and set it on his chest. Then he simply lazed, soaked in the sun, and continued to wait. Sometimes Audric came a little late. It wasn't odd for him to be absent until midafternoon. After all, he had to celebrate his birthday with other humans, such as his family and friends.

Those too were odd concepts to him. Family he could understand somewhat. He'd seen many animals raise their young. But unlike animals, humans formed families and remained a single unit for their entire lives. It was a little baffling to him, having been carried on the wind or by a bird from his parent to take root and grow here. But families were another of those things that were pretty important to humans, so he accepted it.

Friends, though, was still nothing more than an abstract word in his mind. When he'd asked Audric what friends were, Audric had only said, "We're friends."

He was a shrub, and Audric was a human. He didn't know how they could also be friends. But after seven years he was used to Audric giving him such nebulous answers as that.

The sun moved west.

He recalled that humans also paid attention to their ages. As a shrub, he didn't worry too much about how old he was, but for humans, it was how they figured out whether a person was mature or not. This year Audric would come of age--that was how humans said it--and become an adult. He supposed this was also a momentous occasion in a human's life, so it made sense for Audric to be late.

The sunlight on his skin cooled as dusk approached. Then it faded behind distant hills. At last, as the first stars appeared in a lavender and pink sky, Audric came out of the forest and sat beside him.

He sat up and handed the flower crown to Audric. He'd kept it from wilting, so it was still pretty by human standards. "Happy birthday."

Audric smiled, but it was different from his usual smile. "Thank you."

"What's wrong?. . .Are the new flowers ugly?"

Audric chuckled at that. "No, they're beautiful. It's perfect."

He thought that if Audric were a shrub too, life would be much easier. "Then. . .what is it?"

Audric looked at him for a long moment. He looked back. In the twilight, Audric's eyes were darker than normal, and his chestnut hair became dark brown, like fertile soil. He thought this was a good look for him. But the melancholic expression on Audric's face only made pity well within him. It was a quiet but deep feeling, and he reached out to hug Audric.

He'd seen vines wrap around broken branches and hold them up until they healed. He thought perhaps if he could hold Audric together, then that expression would disappear from his face, and he would be happy again.

Audric wrapped him tightly in his arms and suddenly he was the one being held.

Audric's lips brushed his ear when he murmured, "I have to leave this place soon."

His voice was so quiet and unlike its usual self that he wanted to believe he'd imagined it. But deep in his roots he knew he hadn't.

He was overcome with a feeling he couldn't quite describe. It was as if his throat had filled with sticky, thick sap, and vines had wrapped around his chest until he could no longer breathe. His eyes prickled and grew wet.

"Will you be back next year?"

"I don't know."

"I'll make a crown. In case."

Audric chuckled again.

If Audric were a shrub too, life would absolutely be much easier.

Or if he were a human who could understand him and follow him anywhere, however far.

But Audric was a human and he was a shrub.

"Audric?"

"Mm."

". . .What are friends?"

This time, Audric was quiet for a while. "Friends are people you like to be around."

"Oh." He considered this, and thought he understood why Audric had answered the way he did in the past. "So. . .I'm your friend."

Audric rested his chin on his head and said, "Not quite, little shrub."

". . ."

Then Audric chuckled and said, "To me, you're much more than just a friend."

"Oh. Then. . .what am I?"

"The love of my life." Audric declared this with no small confidence. He'd heard that term in some of the novels Audric read him. It seemed to be something humans called their mates.

"But I'm a bush."

"So?"

"We can't reproduce."

"That's fine. I never wanted kids anyway."

"Oh." He had no clue at all what exactly love was. "Then. . .What do you want?"

Audric loosened his hold then to pull back and look at him. His voice was soft when he said, "Just you."

For the rest of that night, they didn't talk. Instead they lay together in the fields of flowers, and when morning came, Audric spoke again for the first time.

"When I come back, we can be together. If you'll wait for me."

Audric pressed a kiss to his forehead.

And after that, Audric left.

He lay in the fields a while longer, until the sun rose up and touched his bare skin. Then he dressed and moved to sit at the edge of the forest, looked out upon the plains and the road beyond, where Audric had already disappeared, and made a silent promise.

When you come back, I'll be waiting.

He waited for a long time.

Winter came. Spring, summer, and autumn. Winter again. The crown he made for Auric, in case he returned, in the end withered and became dirt the next spring. Summer, autumn. Winter came a third time.

After ten winters passed, he simply sat at the edge of the forest and remained there, unmoving.

Seasons came and they went. He counted, and while he waited for Auric, he remembered every day they had spent together. Moss grew on his arms, knees, shoulders, and head. Mushrooms followed. A bird built a nest where his knees met his chest and his arms formed a cradle. It raised its young there, and they flew away. The nest slowly rotted and was replaced with ferns. The longer he sat there, the shorter the years seemed to become, as if time was rushing to run out.

After one hundred and ten winters had passed, the thought of Audric returning was more and more like a dream.

~<>~

Footsteps tickle his ears.

This isn't an uncommon sound. In fact, many times in the last century, he's heard humans passing by. Most don't notice him, which is fine with him. The only human he wants to see is Audric.

. . .Even if it is just a dream.

Winter's barely over. He wants to sleep longer, until his sap warms and he has some leaves to work with. But the footsteps come closer and then halt a mere foot away. The human crouches down.

"Hey. . .Hey, are you alive?"

A hand shakes his shoulder. He opens his eyes.

It's not Audric.

He's not an expert on human lifespans. They're short, he knows, but he doesn't know what old humans look like. Still, by now Audric must be old, and the human crouched before him is likely the same age Audric was the last time they saw each other--or even younger. He wears a chestplate stamped with some emblem or another. From his shoulders flows a red cloak of fine make. An ornate sheath is fixed to his hip. His hair is curly and dark as crows' feathers. His eyes, a deep violet richer than the flower the color got its name from.

Surprised, the young human asks after a moment, "How long have you been sitting here? You're--you're covered in moss."

He thinks about it for a moment. "A hundred years."

". . ." The young human's brows crease. He remembers Audric making similar faces, as if every word out of his mouth were some complex puzzle he had to put together. ". . .What are you waiting for?"

"A human."

Something passes over the young human's face. An expression he's not familiar with. But it makes his sap feel cold.

"They haven't come back in a hundred years?" The frown comes back to the young human's face. "You haven't gone to look for them?"

He looks at his shrub. He can get up and walk away from his roots, yes. His one notable trait. But separate the parts of a whole too far, and they'll never come back together.

"He's too far." He looks back at the young human. "But he promised to come back."

Only when he speaks the words does he realize Audric did no such thing.

He lowers his gaze to the grass, waking from a long winter. Grass is one of those ephemeral things, there one moment, gone the next. A single blade won't even last the summer, and in half a decade, the entire plant has died and left only its children behind.

Humans, as well, are ephemeral.

"You're a dryad, right?"

He nods, then turns his head toward his shrub so the young human will know which plant he belongs to.

The young human is surprised again. "You're so small. You could fit in a little pot. . ." An idea seems to strike him. "What's your name?"

"Don't have one."

Surprised a third time. ". . .Do you want one?"

He considers this a moment. "It doesn't matter. I don't need one."

"Uh. . .okay. I'll--I'll just call you. . ."

He frowns, and the silence stretches.

"Shrub?" he suggests when the young human remains stumped.

"Why not. My name's Nicholas. Listen, wait here a while."

He has been. When Nicholas leaves, he goes back to waiting.

It's a very short time before he returns with a clay pot and a strange metal object. One end is cylindrical, the other a pointed blade with its sides curved up.

Nicholas plunks the pot down beside his shrub, then takes the metal thing in his hand by the cylinder. "How'd you like to go look for your friend?"

He's intrigued, even if the strange metal thing scares him a little. He squats with Nicholas beside his shrub and asks, "How?"

"Easy-peasy. We'll put you in a pot. Then you can go anywhere, right?"

His eyes widen. He looks at the clay pot, then reaches out and picks it up.

It's a small pot. But he's a small shrub.

He locks eyes with Nicholas. "Let's do it."

Two weeks have gone by since then.

Shrub dislikes the human way of measuring time. To his horror, days aren't even the smallest measurement--humans also have hours, minutes, and even seconds. Once he tried to count how many seconds he had lived. He's still adding numbers in the back of his mind.

Nicholas was very careful digging up Shrub's roots and potting him. He's now settled nice and cozy. Some of his roots had still gotten clipped and required healing time, but they're better now.

While they were digging him up, though, Nicholas found a necklace.

It's made of gold, so while it was dirty and scuffed when it was found, it's still mostly undamaged. The pendant's cracked in two, but the design is still beautiful, and the chain is unbroken. When Nicholas had given it to him, Shrub's sap had moved faster, as if he had recovered something of great importance. Proof of something.

Proof of what, then?

This is what he's been thinking of other than the sum seconds of his life.

"Four billion, thirty-seven million, eight hundred fifty-five thousand, eight hundred ninety-three."

Shrub speaks up and breaks the silence with this.

Nicholas looks at him with concern. "What?"

"That's how many seconds I've lived. Or it was a few seconds ago."

Now Nicholas looks at him like he's gone insane. "How'd you even figure that out?"

"Shrubs have good memories."

". . .I see. . ."

Silence falls again.

This isn't uncommon. In Shrub's experience, humans come in two types. The first talks more often than not; the second is silent more often than not. Nicholas seems to flop back and forth between these two types. Some days, he rarely shuts up. And some days, like today, he rarely opens his mouth.

According to Nicholas, today they'll reach a city called Vinjier. Audric once mentioned it to him, but at that time, it had only been a small coastal settlement where traveling merchants sometimes rested, much like their hometown. Now it's one of the kingdom's main ports.

In the distance, it looks like a forest made of smoothed sandstone, or perhaps a cluster of capless mushrooms. Colorful banners fly from high towers, and in the ocean beyond, Shrub sees some ships with furled sails. Dawn paints the scene in shades of pink, yellow, and soft orange.

Smoke blooms in ominous flowers from its streets.

"We should hurry," Nicholas says.

Shrub nods, and they pick up the pace.

It's just past noon when they enter the city, and by now Shrub can hear the ruckus. Clangs of metal, whooshing vibrations of magic, implosions and explosions.

Nicholas takes his arm and steers him into a small alcove beside the street. "Stay here. You could get hurt." Then he leaves, drawing his sword.

Shrub counts two minutes, then follows. In the last two weeks, he's witnessed Nicholas's skill for combat. He's also seen how much the young human struggles to use magic. In this fight, if he can't use it, he'll be the one who gets hurt. Shrub knows some tricks, but the most he's ever healed on a human is scrapes and papercuts. Thus, better to prevent the injury before it happens.

He keeps on the periphery of the action. The central street is in shambles, some buildings collapsed, others damaged, most burning. He avoids the fires--too much heat makes him wilt. All of the destruction has been wreaked by human hands, that much he can see in the way the two factions are still fighting.

Half of them are dressed in red cloaks and bear the same emblem as Nicholas. The other half, dressed in blue cloaks and bearing a different emblem. All of them are paladins. It seems to Shrub that it's a red-versus-blue situation.

He's heard a bit about it from Nicholas. Apparently it's an everyday occurrence for paladins of polarizing faiths to end up fighting. At least, paladins from these two specific schools.

Shrub watches from the corner of a mostly-intact building. Nicholas is trying to channel magic.

What he was attempting to do, Shrub isn't sure. But what happens is: it backfires, and Nicholas injures his sword arm. Despite this, he gathers his magic to try again.

Humans are troublesome.

Shrub is about to weave a shield for Nicholas to spare him further pain when a flash of blue and silver blocks his line of sight. Magic pulses outward like a wave, envelopes the whole city. In a matter of seconds, houses and shops rebuild themselves, the fires go out, and all the paladins' weapons fly back to their sheaths.

Curious, Shrub moves for a better view.

The newcomer is probably Nicholas's age. His eyes are blue as the ocean, his hair pale as the sands of the shore. Freckles paint his face and the tops of his ears. Feathers sprout from his cheekbones and beneath his cloak seems to be a pair of folded wings. His breeches end at the knees, wrapped at the top of a pair of grey bird's feet.

He looks at Nicholas and his eyes frost over.

"You."