Most people, upon first coming across us, might think us quite simple. And, truth be told, we are. Not simple by way of useless and empty- headed (though I readily admit we, like all other races, have our idiots) but simple by way of enjoying life simply because we are alive, beauty because it is beautiful, not because it is expensive, and little things like peace, quiet and happiness. Things which are oft looked upon as childlike and useless by those wiser then us. But I would rather be free and naïve then poisoned and powerful. You do not need great wealth and power to be happy. Which, I suppose, is why I am here now, instead of working in the fields like I should be.

From up here atop my hillock, I can see-well, I should like to say I see all the way to him, however, I can barely see the Old Forest. But I am looking east, which is where he has gone off to, and I suppose it is as good as I'll get.

Because it is spring, everything is quite lovely and lush, more so then usual even. Up on the Hill his garden is alight with beautiful colours that I'm sure only he could induce. They bloom as though by doing so they will shine bright enough that he will see them and come home. They most certainly do not bloom for their current masters.

People say, in the usual show of criticism when faced with love, that I am throwing myself away on him; especially when he has been gone so long with that beloved (or crazy, depending on who you talk to) master of his, that I should find myself a nice, well-off lad, and not be bothered over a gardener. Which I think is quite silly. Is there anyone kinder or better off then those who can coax life and beauty into the world? Who are so loyal as to follow their best friend anywhere in the world, despite everything? I think not.

I do not take their opinions to heart for I know that though we are a simple, loving race we can still be blind and therefore that they will never understand how I love him. Or why, when all hope seems lost I still wait for him.

And so, they will ever continue to give me fruitless advice falling on deaf ears, shaking their heads at my folly. While I, in my childlike naivety will ever continue to look east from atop my hill, knowing he will come home to me if only I wait long enough.