Flower.
That little quirk of hers amused him. For some reason it was always flowers. Her chestnut hair flying as she ran toward him, handing him whatever delicate petal-laced flora was in season at the time. And he didn't trick himself into thinking he was the only recipient of these gifts, any passerby seemed to be worthy of one. And she would cradle them gently as she lifted one out of her seemingly bottomless bag to give it away. Some would think a flower a cheap gift, but he loved them more than a fresh cooked meal or a shining ore.