The time moved extremely slowly. Or rather, it was my perception that accelerated, slowing down my experience of reality.
Maybe that's why the time it took the emissaries to react to the flower and my words stretched out so painfully long.
"This is…"
One of the other riders, a relatively young man with streaks of silk-like, golden hair peeking out of his rudimentary, worn-off helmet muttered as he peeked inside the box.
Leinei's flowers were all fresh, magically grown by the dryad and the help she enlisted amidst her kind. Picked just before we all went off to the battle, and thus still fresh and fragrant in spite of all the stench that battlefield was full of.
The odor of excrement, vomit, and drying blood mixed with sharper hues of smoke and the sickening aroma of burning flesh. And in this mist of this revolting mist of smells, those delicate-looking flowers created an oasis of a delicate, slightly citrusy fragrance.
