If she'd gone slow and stately, he would have worried, but seeing her dance and skip makes it easier to watch her go. He'll carry the memory of her bouncing along with the autumn leaves on the breeze, and it keeps his heart lighter than it has been. Horvath watches her until she's out of sight, and listens to the fading voice, and tends his fire.

The tea is made in silence, but he's at peace, rather than gloomy, and when he drinks it inside a ritual circle, he thinks of the other aglaophotis flowers, growing and blooming in her hair. Horvath stays with the fire, letting it die down of its own accord as the afternoon lengthens into evening. There's the whisper of a chill on the wind, winter to come, but he's still warm enough. When there are only embers left, he buries them neatly, and makes a thorough effort to remove all traces of his presence.

Well away from the still-growing bush, Horvath opens the doorway to home, pulls it around him, and steps forward to reunite with his cats, with Bel if he's around, and to reheat the food she's sent him with for an easy dinner. It will be good to be home, but tonight he'll dream of the wild woods, and a lilting voice echoing through them.