Fall in love in a weekwe get by

I remembered a sentient rose with twelve, or so, rhizomes. She also clung. She smiled: students are afraid of the professor, and all kinds of vegetation are clearly crazy about him. And now he doesn’t look at all like a strict dry-haired teacher, a stern department head, or even a world luminary. Rather, he resembles the young Dougal from the photographs, enthusiastic, passionate… and very handsome.

The petals touched his cheek, he moved them away, tickled them with his finger, as if comforting, and suddenly looked straight at me. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

–What is it, Miss Blair? Are you having fun? Yeah, I can imagine what it looks like. Look, baby, this woman standing in rubber boots and an almost-evening dress with a whole bouquet of botanical rarities in the middle of an unknown swamp finds us funny.

“And cute,” I didn’t deny. – You know, Doctor Norwood, I stop regretting that we didn’t get to Edinburgh. It would be much more depressing there than here. By the way, the dress is not evening at all.

“Not at all evening,” he agreed. – And very patriotic. Just right for the Scottish moors. ? Meanwhile, I never cease to be amazed at the strange things happening to you. But now something else is more important. Purple stemworts do not live without suitable soil for more than two hours.

– Who is stopping us from collecting soil here? Can you make a container?

– It won’t save you. There is too little magic in this soil. She needs more, so let's hurry.

“Then go ahead,” I agreed.

If I knew what speed he was capable of developing over these bumps and in these terrible boots, I would be careful not to agree! From the outside, we probably looked extremely funny, but I was not laughing. The professor rushed forward like a high-speed train, while I reminded myself of a carriage dangling behind an ancient steam locomotive, bouncing and tilting pitifully at every junction of the old rusty rails, that is, every bump or puddle. My feet were dry in the boots and then sweaty, and I think I blistered both heels. There was no longer any strength to look around or even forward; everyone was focused on not tripping and scattering the “bouquet of botanical rarities.”

I realized that we had arrived somewhere only when we ran into the grayish-white wooly side of a fat, phlegmatic sheep. The sheep stretched its muzzle towards the stems and bushes in my hands, I pushed away:

– Where are you going? Chew what's under your hooves! – and finally raised her head, looking around.

We stood on a gentle slope of a hill overgrown with emerald grass. There was no squelching or slurping underfoot; the swamps spread out below as an endless brown-purple plain with mirror-like glimpses of water. Sheep approached us with interest; there were about two dozen of them grazing here. And, honestly, if it weren’t for the pile of greenery that was probably tasty by their standards in my hands, I would now hug the first sheep I came across, sit next to it on the grass and say: “The final one. The train is not going any further!”

– Well, shall we take a risk? – the professor asked when the portal finally opened in front of us. – Hand, Miss Blair. I hope this time we won’t get carried away somewhere to Kilimanjaro.

“I’ll scatter it,” I said briefly. He chuckled, seemingly with a hint of approval, and took me firmly by the elbow.

We stepped into the portal at the same time.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s unlikely that we ended up in Kilimanjaro. However, if so, the spacious, bright greenhouse was certainly not the place from which one would have to escape with adventure. I couldn’t hold back my sigh of relief, and the professor rushed off somewhere, saying:

– Wait five minutes!

He probably ran to arrange the purple plant in suitable soil.

It’s unlikely that the entire armful of curiosities in my hands required the same immediate attention, but still there was no point in throwing it anywhere. Otherwise, would the professor have asked me to wait? He must understand that after such an adventure the girl needs to wash and change clothes, and not stand like a fool in the middle of someone else’s greenhouse, dirty, wearing waders and stinking of swamp mud. Although he may not have understood, his priorities were clearly set differently.

“Rejoice,” I besieged myself, “in your priorities, unnecessary communication with Dr. Norwood should now also be higher than a hot shower and strong coffee. Otherwise, within five days, showers, coffee, and other joys of life will forever cease to be relevant.”

– Exactly. Therefore, think better about something else,” said a voice over your ear. “I couldn’t keep you in the swamps longer.” But now you have a chance to intervene in the situation yourself. So go ahead.