The Witch's Cabin

Evren's eyes were drawn to the pale yellow flowers, marigold, if he recalled his mother's teachings correctly - the same plant he watched Sleepypaw (or Selene in his world) mash into a poultice for the wound on his head.

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The tip of their paw gently brushed passed the flower's delicate petals - they looked like they were almost shinning. Shinning with... With what?

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It felt like they embodied hope. Healing. A bright, better future - something that can always be repaired and helped, the opposite of destruction and pain. They felt promising, almost, like a sacred oath.

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He couldn't explain the feeling. But the almost magical-looking flowers made them feel safe. Protected. Like a ward against the bad.