“My grove?” He straightened on the bench and peered out at the blossoms, the hawthorn trees budded with berries, the calm current of the stream. Cassian joined his hands together in his lap. “Yes, it has all the magical herbs and plants a mage could desire. It was after I left you at the cemetery. Five years went by and each day was insufferable. To cope with the ache, I would come sit here in my free time and daydream about what to fill the empty space with. All the ingredients you needed for your witchcraft, a place to wander when you desired to clear your head.”
