The human female, always on the prowl for something to read, has been to the library again. No telling what she’s brought back. Could be Australian poetry or quilt patterns, or maybe some obscure botanical text that no one but her has checked out in twenty years.
Huh. She says she checked out these for you, Sigyn. She wanted to show them to you in the library, but we didn’t tag along with her this time.
Isn’t this one of the books you and she were drooling over in that fancy antique book store in London? Or if not, isn’t it by the same fellow? I wonder if the illustrations are as nice?
Great Valerian. One supposes that there are inferior valerians which did not rate a lithograph. Sigyn, what is the name of the plant you’re reading about?
Ehehehehe! “Spikenard.” “Spikenard.” “SPIKEnard.” “spikeNARD.” What an odd word—it sort of rolls around in the mouth and sounds like either a smallish, scaly dragon or a move that is illegal in Greco-Roman wrestling…
What’s the next one called?
TREACLE mustard? This is a plant? Sounds like some sort of revolting condiment only Volstagg would eat. What’s on the next page? Wasabi molasses? Ketchup clotted cream? Urrrr.
Turn the page!
“Bladder Campion.” Of course. I shall plant some in the garden, right next to the Pancreas Blossoms, Bowel Berries, Appendix Weed, and Spleenwort.
Who comes UP with this stuff?