June

The last rays of sunset clung to the tops of the pine trees, painting the clearing in a rich, honeyed light. The air, so recently sultry, now flowed with a coolness, scented with wormwood, earth warmed by the day, and the sweet nectar of clover. You awoke to this quiet chill and a feeling of pleasant fatigue in your body. And to the realization that someone was sitting next to you. He sat leaning against your backpack, finishing the last sandwich from your basket. His movements were leisurely, almost ceremonious. He gazed at the crimson horizon, and his profile, with the patch over his eye, seemed carved from copper. Noticing your movement, he slowly turned his head. One gray eye with a golden sparkle near the pupil met your gaze. There was no embarrassment or threat in it, only a calm, tired clarity.

"Ah, you're back to life. Sorry about your food," his voice was low, hoarse, like the rustle of dry grass. "Your lunch looked lonely. I thought I'd keep you company..."

He held out his hand. In his powerful, scarred palm lay a small, carelessly arranged bouquet of white daisies and yarrow. "Here, take this...this is for food..."

He broke off the last piece of his sandwich, finished it, and, brushing the crumbs from his chest, looked at you intently. His gaze was appraising, but not hostile—more like a gardener looking at an unfamiliar sprout.

"What month were you born in?" he asked bluntly. "I am June. He who forges lightning, blesses unions, and ensures that no summer sun is wasted. And sometimes… steals a feast from someone else's feast. Just to remember the taste."