Mirroring the Endless Night | Elliott x Female Farmer |

7. The Flower Dance

"What's with the frown?" a voice asked curiously, pulling the writer away from his thoughts.

He glances over to see Leah walking towards him, her white sundress billowing in the light breeze. He fixes his posture and drops the frown which he hadn't even realized was playing on his lips. "Hello Leah. I'm merely lost in my thoughts, no need for concern," he replies with a calm voice, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves.

The sculptor hummed as she moved beside him, brushing her ginger braid over her shoulder as she looked down at the water alongside him. "Well, let me pick at your brain a bit. What're you thinking so hard about?" she questioned curiously.

"I'm pondering my failure in the literary field. I've drafted the beginnings of a new novel, one I'm hoping publishers may be more keen to look at. But the weight of constant rejection is admittedly dragging me down. It's quite hard to remain motivated when savings are slowly withering away, and nothing I write seems to hit the mark anymore," he explained, pursing his lips.

"You're only a failure once you give up. And you haven't given up yet, right?" Leah tried to reassure him, offering a small smile in encouragement.

The writer smiled in return weakly, "yes... yes I suppose you're right, as per usual. This new story I'm attempting is a far cry from my previous venture. The first book I submitted was an adventure novel, however currently I'm working on a romantic piece."

"Romance?" Leah asked with a small grin, "was there anything that sparked your interest in that specific genre... perhaps a certain farmer ?"

Elliott's face flushed at the mention of Maria and he fervently shook his head. "No, of course not, I simply wanted to dip my toes into a type of writing I've never attempted before."

Ever since the Egg Festival, Leah had been making small jabs and teasing mentions of the farmer to him. She never over stepped any boundaries or went too far, but she insisted that he must've had some sort of crush or romantic infatuation with her. Elliott was simply happy he'd never mentioned the tattoo incident to his artist friend, for he knew he'd never hear the end of it if she knew what had happened that day.

"Whatever you say," Leah grinned, shrugging her shoulders casually before stepping away from the river, "c'mon, you could use a pick me up. Let's go see what Gus cooked this year."

Elliott allowed himself to be guided away from the river, his stomach's silent protests winning over as soon as the scent of food wafted his way. The pair approached a table with various dishes and drinks on display, meats and salads and strange floral scents mixing to create an intoxicating aroma that drew the writer in.

"Elliott! S'good to see ye, ye haven't left that cabin in so long I was starting to think the worst had happened," Willy said with a good-natured chortle before taking a swig of what appeared to be mead.

The writer nodded, somewhat embarrassed as he picked up a glass of ice water and lifted it to his lips, the cool liquid combating the heat of the sun. "Ah, yes, apologies my dear friend. I'm afraid I've been cemented within my own home as of late, I've buried my nose into yet another book of mine."

The fisherman nodded his head knowingly, tipping his drink back once more before going slightly wide eyed and peering around the auburn-haired man. He wasn't the only one that seemed to be staring at something, for whatever had just entered the field had caught Gus' attention, as well as Pam, Shane, and Abigail who were all standing around the food table. The young, purple-haired lady tugged excitedly on the arms of Sam and Sebastian before pointing towards the field entrance with a grin.

Confused, Elliott turned on his heel, not knowing what all this commotion could possibly be about. But once his eyes landed on the figure who had drawn the town's attention, oh he finally understood.