The narwhal was drawn to the milkweed, despite her indifference.
She was beautiful in her pale pink decorations, as her leaves reached to the sky. The narwhal thought it was an exhortation to the Gods and admired her devotion.
Whenever the blessing passed, he pulsed at her. She wasn’t in the water, but maybe this time she had slipped a root in and was waiting to hear from him.
Everyone knows narwhals can’t fall in love with milkweeds. Milkweeds don’t grow in the arctic where the narwhals live!
A group of narwhals is called a Blessing.
N = Narwhal