“Cumin, Turmeric, Cayenne, Blueberry,” she whispered. “A dash of each, and all together.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Somewhere warm,” she said. “A place where beasts are mild.”
I could see it, the faraway, in her dark eyes.
There was a flower, just one. It grew in a small patch of sun on the forest floor, a tiny splash of pink in last year’s dead leaves, quietly soaking up the last of the spring evening and radiating it back.