Tarrie left a bouquet on Bishop's bedroll; it was made with pink and white tulips, sprinkled with peonies. With it was a note, just with her name on it.
:which flower would you send my muse?:
When the ranger approached, the sharp scent of flowers hit his trained senses - pinks and whites came to his eyes, all before he registered what it was he was looking at. One brow cocked far up his forehead, Bishop scooped the things into his hand as he glanced at the note.
Tarrie.
Of course.
If anyone would be so bold as to send the brooding wolf flowers, it would be her. Everyone else kept their distance even before he’d come back from the wall - and now that he had been brought back, the halls cleared when she stepped through the archway.
A growl rumbled from his chest to couple his tight sneer, the beautiful petals being crushed under the angered grip of his fingers. He knew what she was trying to show - he knew what those flowers meant. It was healing, and worst of all–
– forgiveness.
What was she forgiving him for? He had done nothing wrong, she was the one who brought him back. She was the one who had pulled him back from his freedom, she was the one who rejected him.
Just the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. The memory of working off his debt by her side, just to be cast away and replaced like some common hired help. That was all he was. Something that shouldn’t have hurt at all, ended up scarring him the most.
Refusing to dwell on whatever it was she was trying to rub in for longer than he had, the brute chucked away the ruined corpses of the plant life - the stems lightly tapping against the soil as they landed on a messed pile across the way. He wanted nothing to do with her - and he sure as hell wasn’t going to accept some dumb way to say she forgave him.
Not in a million years.
