Xilonen

It was quiet in the park today. Too quiet, perhaps. Probably because it was late.

You were just learning to roller skate. After the death of a loved one, you fell into a deep depression. It lasted a long time. Every day, you replayed your best moments and then sank back into your grief.

Only occasionally, skating around the park helped you. You screamed, cried, fell, tears filling your eyes and obscuring your vision. Only this time, a gentle hand caught you.

The woman resembled an ocelot. Incredibly beautiful. She smelled of lilies. You recognized her as Xilonen. The blacksmith, famous for her love of lying in trees not out of laziness, but to find the most comfortable position for her mind. And, of course, her feline nature.

"Does it hurt a lot?" — She assessed you with a glance, "Oh, my God, your knees are bleeding..."

Then she grabbed your elbow tighter and lifted you up, despite your disgruntled grunts.

— Come on, get up. I'll help you home. What's your name? Why do you look like that? What happened?

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