Love.

It was a rarity now, so elusive that it escaped her grasp for much of her life. Her parents had died when she was little, and she had never been truly loved until she met the thistle. Now, with his death, all hopes of a future had dissipated into the smoke that clouded his grave.

But maybe. . . if she could see beyond it. . .

She could see the moon. And perhaps that moon would change her, twisting her until she was able to put the thistle beyond her.

But again, that was a vision, a dream that had not been satisfied yet.