One peaceful day in summer, a gentle soul sat around the willow tree. No presence was there—only solitude comforted the soul. The sun glazed down, ablaze with striking light—bringing light from the doom.
As they sat, writing in silence; a gentle breeze caressed the silky hair, full of elegance and whisper.
Suddenly, another soul appear—presence so warm, yet demanding. The gentle soul look upon the direction of the demanding presence, curiosity and suspicion all mixed upon them.
"Pray tell, young soul," the gentle soul spoke, "What thunder has struck your heart for this bravery?" he asked.
"None," the demanding soul answered.
"If so, why you—of all bird—is peeking through the tree?"
"Me? A bird? Hardly," he said with casualty.
"What a formidable soul."
"Tell me, great poet—what is the name that you bestow?"
"A great poet?" the gentle soul raised a brow.
"Of course! You! The great, well-known poet of the village!" the demanding soul said excitedly. "Seldom to those—who never heard your exquisite words!" he continued.
"So now, so—so great poet! Tell me the name you bestow."
The demanding soul stepped out from the tree as curiosity won over the thought of danger lurking.
The gentle soul was surprised by the gesture of curiosity. The voice found its way out—as he chuckled softly.
"Bravo, young soul! Bravo," he cheered.
"Pray tell, if I give upon the answer you seek, will you do the same?" he asked.
The demanding soul creeps up closer to him—standing right in front of him."I will," he vowed.
The gentle soul nodded before speaking.
"Then—I shall bestow you the name of mine. Very well, the name is Yvole Reverie."
"Yvole," the demanding soul tested the name on his tongue.
"Hear! My name is Viour Evergreen!" he introduced.
"Pleasure meeting you," Yvole said.
"It's an honor to know the name. I shall not forget," Viour answered.
Their hand found its way to intertwined through a handshake.
Smiles plastered on each other's faces—one as bright as the sun, and another as dim as the moon.