A single droplet strikes the rose. Another follows, then more. Clouds blanket the vast sky. It becomes dark. Surrounded in a thick forest bursting with birch, pine and oak trees, a single blue rose drinks in the rainfall with epic thirst. Thunder rolls in the distance, causing the petals to mildly tremble. The drops inside the rose ripple~ some even cascade down the soft petals past the thorns and into the grass. Lightning illuminates the darkened forest for a heartbeat of time causing the rose to briefly become a silhouette.

The rain beats down harder, pooling under the rose and in the crevices created by its emerald leaves. The water from the sky gives life to the rose, burrowing through the earth, swallowed by the roots. The rose grows even more vibrant~ radiant even.

There is another roll of thunder, this time a little further in the distance. The grey clouds are beginning to break.

The rain slows. The rose is drenched, but quenched of thirst. Its color has grown vivacious; it seems to give off a shine. Every shade of blue is evident in its glorious petals, every shade of green in its leaves. The rainfall has made it even lovelier.

Water droplets leap off the grass with every footstep of the approaching man. He is walking through the forest, a rifle slung over his shoulders, tracking the deer he is hunting. He is drenched as well; the tree he was under did not supply much coverage. The rifle, however, is dry. How he managed to keep it that way, he does not know.

A glimmer catches his eye. His attention is drawn to the blue rose, sparkling just where the light kisses it.

He instantly thinks of the one who would love to see this rose. He digs a water bottle out of his backpack. It's only half full, and he's going home anyway. He holds it upside down, the water tumbling to the already saturated dirt beneath his hunting boots.

Whipping his knife out from his pocket, he takes the blade and severs the plastic in half. He tosses the top half back into the pack. He kneels, poking around in the dirt around the rose. Wet dirt clings to his fingers. He finally finds what he was looking for, the roots of the sapphire rose. He reaches under it, gently scooping it up in the palm of his hands. He examines its beauty for but a moment, smiling at the thought of the woman who would receive this rose. He slowly releases it into the makeshift flower pot, loosely packing soggy dirt around the naked roots, unintentionally leaving finger dents in the soil. Carefully, he brushes a stray drip from a petal and salvages some water from a second water bottle to pour into the "pot", then drinks some to quench his own thirst. Cradling the rose in one of his strong arms, he stands and continues his way through the forest.

The sun breaks through the canopy the same way the hunter breaks through small branches and forges his own trail. He climbs over fallen logs, occasionally slips on wet leaves, and eventually finds his way back to the outskirts of the forest.

The hunter pauses to readjust his rifle, his pack, and the rose. He brushes some dirt off of his legs and arms, but a smudge remains on his cheek that he is unaware of. He reclaims what he had been carrying and forges ahead until he finds his car.

Tenderly leaving the rose on the passenger's seat, he tucks away the rifle and the pack on the floor of the car. He slams the door shut and walks over to the driver's side.

He has to drive for a short while until he finds her house. He had never come straight there from a hunting trip before, but this gift was too precious to wait. He couldn't wait to see her. They had already been apart for a couple of days. He was supposed to see her later in the day, but he just couldn't wait.

He lifts the rose, the rare sapphire rose, off of the seat of his car and carries it oh so gently to her front door. She opens it just has he arrives. A surprised smile illuminates her face. Her large, lovely eyes look upon his wonderful face. She leans up to embrace him, but he takes a small step back, afraid she had not yet seen the gift and it would become crushed in their hug.

She looks hurt, but only for the briefest of moments, because her gaze falls to the rose of indescribable beauty in his hands.

He tells her he had found it for her, how he knew she would love it, how it made him think of her. He places it in her hands, her illuminecent smile outshining the beauty of the rose by far.

He smiles too, with a sweet softness in his eyes. She loved his eyes; they reminded her of the ocean. She leans in and he embraces her.

The sapphire rose is transplanted to a real flower pot that is set on the centerpiece table of her living room. She loves it, and it flourishes under her care. She gazes upon it every day, and every day she smiles. Her favorite thing about the sapphire rose is its striking color. . .her favorite color. It is the color of the hunter's eyes, the eyes of the man she loves and who loves her.