[p] your roots will rot away

Draugr is by me!

Dra was glad her suggestion was met so enthusiastically, and her tail thumped happily against the ground. She was looking forward to helping mama Siv make something again -- she'd helped a little bit with miss Eris's pale white leather dress, but she hadn't been able to do everything with her mother, unfortunately. Siv had told her part of the leather-making process was for women only, and as Dra was only a child, she was not yet permitted to learn this. It had been a disappointment, but the woody-hued wolfdog knew she'd be able to learn someday.

The Bambino leaned forward, petite and wolfish ears pricked to take in all the advice she could possibly glean from Odessa. Mama Siv didn't even understand -- she hadn't grown up in Salsola, after all, and she was still firmly rooted in the Hearg Njorth's ideals. Draugr, on the other hand, hadn't even been truly alive to experience the Hearg. She had been a baby in Siv's stomach, blind and deaf to the outside world. Gravely, the young woman nodded. I want to -- learn and study, more, the hybrid confessed, twirling a blade of grass between her fingers. She handled it gently, and when she released it, the sprig returned to its normal state. That's why I'm so interested in the garden. It's something I think I can do. There were a great many more things Dra did not think she could do, but it was better to focus on the positive as of right now, she thought. Thanks so much for the advice, she breathed, smiling. It was good to know she wasn't alone in feeling unworthy, at least.

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