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"Because you're like sunshine," I say. "You always make me smile. Even when I'm having an awful day."

His grin falters for just a heartbeat. Like he's surprised. Then it comes back twice as wide.

And Kaelen. A deep red rose, dark as wine.

"Because you're strong," I tell him. "But under all that, you're gentle. Much gentler than you want anyone to know."

Kaelen looks extremely uncomfortable.

"Oh, this is wonderful," Rhydian says, sitting up. "She thinks you're a delicate little flower, Kaelen. A delicate, blushing rose."

"I'm going to throw you in the fireplace."

Laughing, I'm also a little embarrassed. They're just bits of cloth.

Except they don't treat them like bits of cloth.

Zarek tucks his white rose carefully into his shirt pocket and touches it once, like he's making sure it's there. Rhydian pins his yellow one right in the middle of his chest and announces that he's going to wear it every day for the rest of his life, and that he'll be buried in it.

And Kaelen holds his red rose in his huge palm and just looks at it. For a long time. He turns it over slowly. He runs one thick finger along the edge of a petal so gently, so carefully, like it might break if he breathes on it.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

That's all. But he's holding it like it's made of glass.

They love them. All three of them. They actually love them.

My eyes sting, and I have to look away.

"Our turn," Zarek says. He reaches behind the cushion of his chair and pulls out three small objects.

I knew it. Carvings. That's what they've been whittling all week.

He sets them in my lap one at a time. Three little dragons. They're all carved from the same pale wood, and then painted. But they're completely different from one another.

"I made this one," Zarek says.

His dragon is black, with fine silver lines traced along its scales and its wings. It's standing upright, wings half spread, chin lifted, like it's guarding something precious.

I turn it in my fingers. Every scale is perfect.

"Even your dragon looks terribly serious," I tease him.

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Some creatures simply understand the importance of responsibility."

I lean over and kiss him.

It's meant to be a quick thank you. It isn't. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, and the kiss goes on, and on, and by the time I pull away, my face is warm and my toes are curling.

"Unfair," Rhydian complains. "Absolutely unfair. You're setting a terrible standard for gift appreciation, and the rest of us have to live up to it."

"Then show me yours," I tell him.

He does. It's a golden dragon, gleaming with paint, with copper colored wings. It's curled up in a playful little ball with its tail in its mouth, and somehow, I don't know how, it has a wicked little gleam in its eye.

I burst out laughing. "It looks exactly like you!"

"It does not."