On the next day, I am to get her favourites, should any residual flavour skit to the fallout between lavender warriors, my forest drones of no fixed abode. The unkempt package also proudly left to lust for last. Brittle bit sized coconut tarts, did venture, and held only a slant recall to those yet fallen, as might a lost-hidden parcel of ingredient sugar. Then growing up wasn’t treason, for to be sure, of those drones and next years vintage model, forgiving or reminiscent, they aged by another leftover bundle, of lavender and her dollar rose.