Sun Mote Copse The Art of the Dinner Date

"I know, what you mean," Wraen nodded, thinking of her own mind castle that looked more like Weasley's Burrow and Room of Requirement, where Harry had hidden Snape's textbook, than the neat and tidy medieval equivalent of the term itself. If one was to peek inside, they would see rows and rows and rows of shelves all stacked with books, files, folders, random scrolls, papers, cardboard boxes with titles written on them with black marker pen in an undtidy hand-writing. There would be random memorabilia and tons of odds and ends lying around. Cobwebs and spiders were a must there, what would be a proper house of an experienced mind with ghouls of random memories crashing through, wailing merrily and then making Wraen wonder, why the hell had she remembered this particular bit of her life, while doing something very important.

You know, how it happens... take the previous paragraph of this post, for example. It helped Sugar Glider in no way, Wraen was not conscious of it either, but it definitely met the Narrator's word count requirements and hopefully entertained the invisible audience a little. The lesson in the botany would have continued, had it not been for a very urgent (and convenient) call somewhere from the borders. Wraen listened attentively to the tone to understand, how important was it, but then decided to go and see for herself and avoid making faulty assumptions. "I got to go," she told Sugar Glider. "But I promise we can continue our lesson another time. I will try to remember all my mom told about plants," she told her. And then with one last smile left the girl alone.