Devotion in a Meadow

It was an impulse. A ridiculous, silly impulse.

Marcus reached out and plucked several stems of the wildflowers. Pale blue asters, scattered across the meadow where he and Esca were resting after a hunt. The heads seemed rather small in his large hand.

He studied the flowers for a moment, simply enjoying the way the petals shook slightly in the wind. Marcus handed them to Esca, the younger man sitting close at hand whittling away at a piece of soft wood.

Asters had many meanings. Like devotion. Marcus wondered if that held true in Britain, as he gazed expectantly at his friend.

Esca accepted the bundle of stems with the hand that still held his knife. Clear gray eyes studied the flowers, just as green eyes had only moments before.

There was a long pause and Marcus thought, perhaps, asters had some other meaning for the Britons.

Then Esca was slowly pulling a single, pale bloom from the bunch held tightly in his fingers and handing it back to Marcus; the same expectancy in his expression.

Perhaps, asters had the same meaning, after all.

the end