werewolves are very shy and sensitive with their emotions, no one is allowed to see them cry
A New Beginning
It was a small flower.
Not the garden, though. The garden was huge, roving over acres of land until the start of the trees to the west. To the east was the house, where the dog lives. North is a lake, a lovely lake that’s fed by numerous streams that weave in and out of the garden. The southern edge, though, is simply a fence, then a street with the daily car exhaust, and then another fence, and after that fields of grass that were the home of so very large animals.
The dog was trained to help take care of those animals. Those animals were the reason for the property, after all. So very important to everything that stood within miles and miles of that one little flower.
It was a good flower with its strong green stem growing from the wonderfully rich soil.
Not as strong as the trees, though, ever impervious to the wind and rain. Their trunks are strong, rooted deep in the ground to claim their stance. No, the flower couldn’t compare to the trees, but that’s okay! It’s not a tree, so there’s no need to have a stem that strong.
…but it would be nice to have a stem as strong as the rose bush. The pretty lady likes that one; she comes out to smell the blooms in the spring. Sometimes, she even braves the thorns and snips off a bloom. Snips it! Without a care in the world! Of course, the rose bush is strong; it’s not even phased by the difference. One day.
It was a pretty flower. The man with the good, strong, callused hands told him that every time he passed.
At first, the flower wasn’t so sure. The soil was pretty, all rich and full of nutrients, the very reason the flower grew. And the lake was pretty, it’s still waters a perfect reflection of the bluest of skies. Even when the skies were overcast with clouds and rained down the purest water, the lake was still pretty.
However, the man was responsible for the garden. From the well-manicured grass to the blooming trees, it all flourished under his hands. So if the man with the good hands said the flower was pretty, then the flower was pretty.
The little flower learned to trust his judgment.
Oh! The man is coming! The flower preened at the thought of listening to him as he worked. He didn’t always talk to the flower, but after all the work the man put into the garden, the flower wanted to return the same effort. The dog was with the man, too, which wasn’t so rare. The dog loved the people, so the garden loved the dog.
What was new, however, was the little, furry thing that was running circles around the two. The flower wasn’t sure what to make of it. It looked like the dog, just…smaller. Not that small was a bad thing! The flower was small. It was still growing, so it wouldn’t always be this small. Maybe the little dog was the same way?
“Ah!” The booming voice of the man brought the flower out of its thoughts. “Now this pretty flower is special.”
The little flower swayed in happiness. Two noses brushed against it; one familiar and calm, the other new and erratic.
“I wasn’t sure I could get it to grow, but here it is blooming away in my garden.” The man’s voice turned. “You be sure to guard it as well as you guard the horses.”
The small dog snuffed, looking between the man and the flower. A small yip and then the party was moving on, leaving the flower to ponder what it knew, and what it didn’t.