Man of the Marsh

Greniv would admit, his life wasn’t perfect.
Lately, it was feeling less than. He was lonely, and it was really starting to hit him.
His friends were all finding mates and their happily ever afters, kids, the happy home, the whole shebang. Even freaking One-eye and his fair Penny were deliriously happy.
When the guys, at some prompting from their mates, decide to give their resident Man of the Marsh a hand, things don’t go quite as they might have planned. Or, as Gren thought of it, worse than even he could have imagined.

Gren knew from the start it was all a bad idea, but willingly or not, he was along for the ride. He supposed.
Cue Aster. She’s quiet, shy, almost painfully so. She was none of the things Greniv would have picked out for himself in a future date, let alone a potential mate. And, vain as he felt to think it, she was tall in either form, a full woman of the Marsh, even taller than Greniv’s staggering shifted frame. She nearly tripped over herself trying to talk to him. The woman blushed at nearly everything, or even next to nothing at all. He’d admit, she was sweet, if awkwardly so, and he tried to let her down easy… she wasn’t the one for him.

Greniv had dreamed of his ideal mate, to the point he could almost picture her in his mind. He agreed to this disastrous proposed date idea because, against his better judgement, he could grow walnuts but at times didn’t own a pair. He had a hard time saying no.
On the peripherals, when things are starting to really go south, he catches a hint of something, the perfumed hint of the female meant to be his. He’s desperate to meet the owner of said brain scrambling scent. SHE is his one.

Or is she…?