Fall in love in a weekwe get by

– Calm down. There are no piranhas here. – Obeying his gesture, a black branch covered with mucus and mud slowly stretched out of the water. – Only saber-tooth snags. They are, of course, extremely dangerous, especially in the fall, but not fatal.

“What disgusting,” I shuddered with disgust, and then, belatedly, I was covered with shame. I started a panic-hysteria out of nowhere!

“S-sorry,” I barely managed to squeeze out a single word.

“Pull up your dress, it’s tight,” the professor commanded, and my legs were put on thigh-high boots. I secretly felt the material: not rubber, but something waterproof, slippery and smooth. Of course, they didn’t add dryness to the feet that had gotten wet, but at least they should protect them from such “non-lethal” snags. And I wouldn’t want to lose my shoes and walk around barefoot. Not to mention the fact that I selected the shoes for a parquet event, and not for walking on water, swamp mud and slippery bumps.

– Try to support them with magic. Spells dissipate too quickly. I'll go ahead. Follow the trail. It was still not enough to really fall into the quagmire.

So we wandered off, slowly and sadly. Dr. Norwood, wearing the same boots as mine – looked killer combined with a tuxedo! – he walked carefully and, it seems, before each step he was testing the ground under the water. I lifted my dress high so that the tight skirt would not interfere with walking and maintaining my balance. It's good that Norwood is looking ahead and not at me. Such a defiant “mini” was not even in Charlotte’s wardrobe.

I had little idea how to support the boots with magic. She acted on a whim, in much the same way as Charlotte taught how to maintain the desired temperature when brewing coffee – she imbued her swamp pioneer equipment with a thin “stream” of energy. I hope this is enough…

The sun was creeping lazily behind a curtain of clouds, and, apparently, we were completely and hopelessly late for the official part. This is something I didn’t regret, but I wanted to be in time for the banquet. Looking at swamp water and swallowing with a dry mouth is not at all joyful. And hunger made itself felt – it was a shame that I didn’t have lunch.

“Freeze,” the professor suddenly turned, walked ten steps to a pinkish-purple mound sticking out of the brown peat water and plucked something there. I barely heard him say quietly, “Chester will be delighted.” – Come here, Miss Blair. It's drier here.

Indeed, when we walked a little further in a new direction, the pools of standing water disappeared completely. Although it was still wet and greedily slurping underfoot.

“Here the danger of entering a quagmire is minimal,” the professor rejoiced. “You see, the sphagnum has been replaced by cotton grass and heather?”

“Of course,” I muttered. Should I not admit that for me both sphagnum and cotton grass are identical strangers? And I only know heather from pictures, and not in its original natural form.

“Hold it,” he handed me some stunted pink bush, pulled out by the roots. I hastily adjusted my skirt, although Dr. Norwood didn't seem to care what I looked like, as long as I didn't drop his find. Making sure that I was holding it firmly but carefully, he rushed towards the thickets of whitish grass that looked like thick threads. Or not herbs? I was sure of only one thing – this next thing would bring a lot of joy to Chester Fully. For sure.

The whitish thread-like “something” was followed by a purple one with thick, fleshy stems. Behind him is a tangled ball of something soft and fluffy, similar to a bird's nest. Next is a bouquet of lush green trefoil leaves, but definitely not clover. I resignedly accepted the next prey, and the professor seemed to have forgotten where we were going and where we ended up, and was completely carried away only by botanical research that he understood.

– Well, where are you? Come on, show yourself, I know you’re hiding,” he muttered, examining a large hummock overgrown with brown moss. – ?ha! Gotcha! – he suddenly exclaimed excitedly and pulled a thick crimson stem into the air. Most of all it looked like a vine. How I imagined them. Only the vines in my reality could not wriggle, trying to entwine their arms. – Shh-sh-sh. Calm down, baby, nothing will happen to you. “The professor wrapped the stem around his elbow like a coil of rope and pulled. A bright red bunch of petals came out of the hummock with a loud smack – I couldn’t dare call this strange crumpled misunderstanding a flower – swayed from side to side in bewilderment and, trustingly clinging to it, settled on Norwood’s shoulder. – Yes, smart girl, that’s it.