Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

Amalthea was bundled up against the cold as she set out buckets of flowers outside the shop. Despite the cold it was sunny, and as along as the water didn't freeze they would be fine. These were winter flowers: daphnes, hellebores, snowdrops. There were also branches of evergreens and holly bushes, ready to be made into wreaths and boughs for holiday decorations.

She sat down on a bench outside the shop to start making things to sell. She'd learned how in the preceding weeks; people liked her designs, apparently, so she would make more for the shop to sell. Apparently people also liked to see someone making the wreaths, so she'd sit outside until the sun went away. She had a base for each of them, deftly weaving pine branches, holly and juniper stems with their red and blue berries. She worked with pinecones, ribbons, and a few pheasant feathers. On a few she added flowers: stems with little water reservoirs attached to make them last.

She tried humming to herself, tunes she remembered. She didn't feel very good at it, even if she liked music.