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While the sacrifices Herb made for his hobbies appeared much more akin to exhausting duties in the eyes of others, Herb himself treated them as relaxing pastimes.
Nightly, he would rise out of bed in the early hours of the day, watering can in hand as he made his way into the kingdom’s forest. His garden, similar to his shop, wasn’t buried in the vegetation’s depths by any means- A few minutes down a gravel pathway allowed all cookies a safe route to view Herb’s hard work.
A swell of joy would rise in the gardener’s chest whenever he visited his plants. Few could ever understand Herb’s connection to the way his carefully planted flowers bloomed, or his compassion for even the littlest bugs his garden inhabited. Everything blossomed with- seemingly- just as much kindheartedness as he did.
There, in the nearing dawn’s light, was where Herb’s day began. He had to build his sleep schedule around this- Watering his garden took much longer than any other garden in the kingdom.
Because it’s Herb’s garden.
Gracing each plant with just the right amount of water and a thoughtful compliment or praise, the gardener made his way through his miniature wonderland: first the flowers, then the shrubs, and then his trees. The plants reciprocated Herb’s happiness with their vibrant, brilliant colors that seemed effervescent under the stars.
He had fallen into his dutiful trance for so long that it was dawn when he had finished his ministrations.
The dew littered upon the blades of grass reflected the slowly rising sun, a glistening sheet of soft, pale light that had filtered through the towering forest leaves.
Taking a breath, Herb set his watering can upon the undergrowth. Waking up early enough to nurture his garden was a gift that carried him through his days, as well as a gift to his plants; each flower, sprout, shrub and tree received the gardener’s utmost care and attention, thriving under his circumspect routine.
This was routine, and this was how it would be.
...That is, until the soft hum of a melody and gentle crunching of footsteps among the forest floor arose from behind Herb.
The gardener turned around, looking to the stranger with a curious arch of a brow. Herb’s mysterious guest, however, only chuckled- adjusting the hat on his head with a delicate sigh.
“What a lovely garden you have here...”
Herb blinked at the other cookie, still recovering from the small shock of the sudden appearance. After a moment of quiet, a smile crossed the bard’s lips, as he held out his hand for the gardener to shake.
“I’m Clover. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Herb,” He smiled, taking Clover’s hand- smooth, scarcely calloused fingers for someone so musically inclined- and shaking it in return. “I appreciate your kindness, but it’s rather early.. What are you doing here?”
Clover pulled his hand away to sweep a stray, snow white hair from his face, and Herb, in his lingering stupor, decided that this cookie was more beautiful than the garden he had so tediously doted on.
The bard folded his arms across his chest, face nearly glowing in the soft light.
“I tend to carry myself where I feel inspiration is to be found.” He nodded his head towards the vast vegetation surrounding them, “And your garden is the perfect setting for a ballad’s tale to take place.” Clover turned his back to Herb to survey the garden once more. The green-haired male stepped beside his visitor, eyeing the adoration that manifested in Clover’s teal eyes. Herb’s gaze traveled to the bard’s back, inspecting the instrument he carried with him.
“So you’re a musician?”
Clover nodded, those same inspired eyes now focused on Herb.
“I think that’s really neat!” The gardener chuckled, offering his hand once more. “If you’re here for ideas, I’m certainly happy that my hard work can become your muse! Would you care to sit with me while you think?” He offered. Gesticulating to a large, ancient-looking laurel tree, Herb started once more, “The laurel provides ample shade for when the sun does rise. Resting below its stump is a go-to of mine!”
The white-haired male rested his hand within Herb’s palm without hesitation, intertwining their fingers. Herb tried not to visualize his surprise, but ultimately failed as he tensed up at Clover’s upfront behavior. He was a very expressive cookie- Clover only laughed, a beautiful, melodious sound that made Herb feel like his face was flourishing light pink more in that very moment, than any of his flowers ever had in their lives.
The two began their walk to the old laurel. With each step Clover took, the plants around him almost seemed to lift with excess vitality. It was almost as if the bard was more important to his garden than the very sun was.
As they took their seats upon the soft grass, Clover took out his instrument and began to strum its chords. Herb watched him with the same awe that this very cookie had gazed at his garden with.
He knew that this would be a permanent change to his daily routine, but he also knew that he certainly wouldn’t mind allowing his guest to become his friend, and maybe more.
He didn’t think his plants would, either.