Anson slowly ceased to weep and became as pale and silent as the stars that shone down on him. Always before the stars had been warm and twinkling and merry. Now they were so cold and distant, so rigid...
He got to his feet, and Gorby followed his example. Anson touched Lira's cheek, then one of the flowers on the wreath. He stood indescisive for a moment, and then he gently took one of the flowers from her hair. He drew in its sweet scent and gazed thoughtfully at it. "What a sweet flower," he murmured. "'Tis a pity it will fade... not like Lira. She was a flower, sweeter-scented than any, but she cannot fade." He put the little flower into his breast-pocket and put his hand over it, holding the flower close to him. "May you ever blossom in my heart, Lira," he said quietly. A little smile flickered across his face. "But you can't do anything about it. I'll make you bloom forth, whether you desire to or not." The smiled disappeared; his lower lip trembled, but he drew a deep shuddering breath and kept his composure. Stooping down, he pressed his lips to her hair. "Goodbye, Lira."
He stepped back. Gorby did nothing but take his hand in a comforting way. Anson stood there, gazing upon the beautiful face for a moment more before he turned to Gorby. "Come, let's go by the fire," he said. "I'm cold and tired. I would like some sleep. I think we shall say farewell to Lira once more before we return to our Shire." They left the pavilion together, still holding hands. They were yet the old playmates they had been, but a new bond was between them, a deeper bond. Anson recalled it with a brief smile and, gripping Gorby's hand tightly, murmured, "Dear friend and brother of mine, thank you."
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