Som

Som loved oranges.

And when I say loved oranges, I mean really loved oranges. Adored all citrus, really, but especially oranges. Their little thicket was surrounded by small trees, covered with the orange globes when the season was right. Sometimes, the night breeze carried the scent of orange blossoms as well, the delicate flowers unfurling in the evening air.

Thank Isambard for that, really. She’s the one who cared for them, anyway. Som just relaxed, claws sticky-sweet with juice, under the light of the many stars. What a life. No need to do such awful things, like fight, or work. Ugh. Can you even imagine?

Som certainly can’t. Life now is citrus-sweet, tangy, and Som would never want a single thing to change.