Draugr is by Haley!

The garden was a familiar place for the woody-hued Associate. Draugr did not spend an excess of time around these plants, but she had learned the very basics from Odessa, and her job indicated she ought to take stock of these plants now and again -- along with the storage. Having just come from the storage, Draugr was in a rather good mood -- there were many supplies from the Boreas wolves, and Salsola's coffers brimmed with trade goods. Draugr was not old enough to have gone on the last Freetown trip, but she had heard stories and vaguely remembered. Perhaps there would be another one soon.

As she was only traveling a short distance, Dyrne was left to wander around the house, attached by a long lead rope to Dra's home itself. The dark-furred wolfdog was contemplating building a fence; it would be nice to have a little corral where Dyrne might roam freely. One of the slaves might be able to accomplish this -- surely, if Gjalda had constructed the stable, a fence would be no issue whatsoever. Dra was still contemplating this as she meandered toward the garden, already the sweet stink of many plants pervasive in the air. It was spring, and this was their time.

She was therefore not surprised to see the garden in full bloom -- another sight did surprise her, however. The pale blonde fur of Foxglove was unmistakable, nestled amongst the green of the plants and colors of the flowers. Draugr hesitated, hovering near the edge of the garden, before stepping forward. Hey, she said, rather casually -- she and Foxglove were of the same rank. What are you planting? The inquiry, too, was casual, but curious, too: Dra studied the new additions and the stirred dirt around them with pale purple eyes, wondering.

Draugr is by Requiem!

The dark-furred hybrid knew of many plants, but she had not know that a foxglove was a plant. Her muzzle wrinkled and she could not help but smile, a genuine grin that welled up from somewhere and took root on her face before she could stop it. I didn't know there was a plant named for you, she started, and then lifted her hand to her muzzle, covering the smile and ushering it away after a moment. She knew, of course, that it was the other way around, in all likelihood. Unless "foxglove" was just a nickname Foxglove, or perhaps her parents, had called this plant. Dra knew no other name for it, but she hadn't known it had a name at all until a moment ago.

I'm okay. Maybe restless, she admitted, shrugging a woody-colored shoulder indifferently. I'm supposed to be the one taking stock of the gardens and storage and the rest, so I thought maybe I'd put my restlessness to use. And you? Draugr typically wasn't one to inquire on well-being, but it was only polite, as she'd been asked herself. And, in this case, it was more interesting than usual. The pale blonde woman seemed to be on the outskirts of Salsola, much as Dra herself felt at times. Her own feeling of displacement was fading fast, however; she was more sure of herself now than she'd been upon first departing from her mother's side.

Draugr is by Haley!

The blonde woman explained the names and Draugr was disappointed -- though not surprised -- to find her humor misunderstood or simply disregarded. Humor was not one of her strengths, and the woody-hued wolfdog found it a difficult one to hone here. Her mother was not one for jokes and pranks, and she thought many others within Salsola were of a similar mindset. They were a tool of distraction, though, and Dra thought she understood their worth. She would have to get better.

She shrugged and smiled again, a smaller one than before. Some names are just pretty. Names were important, but even pretty names had power. Foxglove and her sisters were all named for flowers; it must mean something or bestow something upon them, she thought. Draugr idly bent down to pluck a tiny green weed from amongst some lavender, but she hesitated as Foxglove again spoke, pale eyes looking over at her curiously. As the woman finished, the wolfdog hunkered into a more comfortable stance and twirled the little green leaf between her fingers, looking down at it as she spoke.

You have to get better, she instructed. We all do -- that's why we're alive. Draugr's tone indicated confidence in these ideas, though her body language suggested otherwise: downcast eyes, twiddling fingers, even ears just slightly bent back against her head. I didn't know what to do at first, either. When mama Siv set me out on my own, I mean. But I've gotten better. I learned how to ride a horse and drive a cart. You can learn things, too. Now, she looked up at Foxglove and smiled, twitching her tail back and forth a few times in reassurance. They were Family of Salsola and of the same rank, yet Foxglove had shared an insecurity with Dra, who interpreted this as an indicator of trust. Insecurities were secrets to be buried deep down -- one didn't just share them with anyone.

Draugr is by me!

It seemed Foxglove was taking a moment to consider her options. Draugr thought she knew this feeling. When mama Siv had set her loose on the world, Dra interpreted this to mean she would not (could not) walk her mother's path of healer and witch-woman. It was left to her to figure something else out, and Dra had not yet done that when mama Siv took her back into the house. Horses and driving the cart had been fun enough, and Draugr loved her own chestnut mare, now that she owned one -- but they were not a calling.

Perhaps Foxglove had just had such a moment, for she inquired on the flowers and plants of the garden. Dra's reaction was instantaneous: a grin appeared on her dark muzzle, and she nodded vigorously. Odessa, she said. Odessa's taught me a little bit, and I can help you with what I know, but she's way better than me. She wrote a book -- can you read? Draugr could not, and so had been deprived the knowledge contained within the pages of Odessa's book, but she'd absorbed bits and pieces from the gardener all the same.

Draugr is by Despi!

The wolfdog nodded, but her pale purple eyes glanced about as if to ascertain their solitude. I cannot, either, she confessed. But I'm trying to learn. It is a difficult thing, she said, frowning. Letters are one thing -- somewhat easier, but Odessa's book is handwritten. Her handwriting is neat, but so different from the words in human books. It was almost like performing a different skill entirely, reading handwriting and books. Dra had never even attempted to write anything, herself, though she might someday. Curiosity was a powerful motivation, even if she knew she might fail miserably.

But I am sure she would show you, Draugr said, considering. And there are others within the pack who work with plants, I'm sure. The garden has many visitors. Though not all might be proficient as Odessa, others had specialized skills, to be sure, and their specialization's depth of knowledge exceeded Odessa's. Still, Dra could recommend no one better for a basic introduction to plant life. I can introduce you to a few different plants? I am still learning, but there are some I know well, Dra offered. The Bayberry and Indian Tobacco plants were just two such plants -- although Draugr had never made candles or oil of the latter, she knew the processes by their description alone. The former, the Tobacco, she knew from experiences with it. It was so prolific, no one noticed a few missing flowers from the garden -- and if mild thievery was not to one's taste, it grew wild anyway.