Yarrow- cure for a broken heart
The little girl clutched a handful of white yarrow – a plant his mother dubbed an obnoxious weed – and sobbed at the water's edge. He'd seen her around town and thought for sure her dad was the one who'd given his mom all the nasty syrups in the medicine cabinet. Scarlet hair like hers wasn't easily forgotten.
"Hi," he said sidling up next to her. The girl sniffled and wiped her tears messily on the sleeve of her dress. "Are you okay?"
"No," she whispered. For a long while she just stood there quietly sobbing. "My fish died," the girl said finally.
"I'm sorry," he offered. "One of our lambs died last week. My mom says that's why we aren't to name them for a while."
"Jack was a carnival prize. I don't know how old he was." She sniffled again and shoved a tangle of hair out of her face. "I miss him."
"Is this where you buried him?"
"I didn't think to bury a fish," the girl said. "I thought maybe he'd like to go home to the ocean instead." She looked over at him with wide eyes. "Do you think this river goes to the ocean?"
"I think it does." He smiled, and when she smiled back his world shifted a little to the right.
The girl tossed the yarrow weeds into the water and when they disappeared downstream he took her hand without really thinking. Her fingers were sticky with plant goo.
"I'm Jellal," he said perhaps a moment too late. His mother was always going on about personal boundaries or something.
"I'm Erza," she replied.
"You've got pretty hair."
Erza blushed. "Thank you."