 Brig / Zephyr Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Running had become a regular part of Freya's training regimen ages ago. She had quickly learned that duelling practice alone wouldn't keep her where she wanted to be physically. Stamina mattered. Endurance mattered. Being able to keep moving long after her muscles started complaining definitely mattered. So today she traded the castle corridors for the pathways winding across the Hogwarts grounds and put in the extra work.
Freya drew in a steady breath through her nose and released it through her mouth, arms pumping loosely at her sides as the castle gradually fell farther behind her. The pathway curved through patches of grass and vegetation, and without meaning to, her attention wandered toward the plants growing alongside it.
That one was yarrow. She knew that now. A few strides later, her eyes caught another familiar shape. Hawthorn.
Freya nearly rolled her eyes at herself. Apparently spending enough time around someone who knew considerably more about plants than she did had consequences. There had been a time when everything growing on the grounds had been separated into three categories in Freya's mind: tree, flower, and green thing. Now she occasionally found herself recognising things before she could stop herself.
She rounded another bend, shortening her stride briefly where loose stones had scattered across the pathway. Beyond them, the ground grew noticeably drier, the soil thinner and more exposed where it caught plenty of sunlight. A cluster of hardy plants clung stubbornly to it.
The word surfaced immediately: xerothermic.
Freya actually slowed for half a second. Not only had she recognised vegetation adapted to particularly hot, dry conditions, but she'd supplied the proper word for it without having to think. Nyle had officially ruined her. Thanks, Nyle.
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