Greta sits back on her heels, watching as Anne retrieves the wayward weed. Her cheeks prickle over what an abysmal toss it was, but the way Anne smiles over the chickens' excitement is an endearing little surprise. Greta ducks her head to hide a faint smile of her own, feeling, absurdly, as if she's been privy to something she shouldn't.
The invitation to help weed the garden was implicit, but it's still a slight shock when Anne actually takes her up on it. There had been some reasoning behind it: Anne has never been the type to sit and chat, and Greta doesn't think she's the type to sit quietly by while someone else works, either — not without some sort of occupation. Still, the thought of teaching a pirate how to weed is just outlandish enough that Greta grins outright, wry and a little incredulous, before recovering herself.
"Well," she says, hands resting on her apron for a moment or two while she considers where to begin. "Right. These here, along the border, are marigolds," she starts, pointing everything out as she goes. "They can stay; they help keep the rabbits out. And these rows here are mostly lettuce. All we're getting rid of are the little things that are sprouting in between them — like this grass, here, or this bit of clover, or... whatever this is." She plucks the offending mystery sprout with a tsk and tosses it, more accurately this time, to the chickens. "It should all come up easily enough. If you unearth any worms, you can leave them, but grubs or slugs can go straight to that lot." She jerks her thumb towards the chickens for emphasis, then glances over at Anne. "Make sense?"
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The invitation to help weed the garden was implicit, but it's still a slight shock when Anne actually takes her up on it. There had been some reasoning behind it: Anne has never been the type to sit and chat, and Greta doesn't think she's the type to sit quietly by while someone else works, either — not without some sort of occupation. Still, the thought of teaching a pirate how to weed is just outlandish enough that Greta grins outright, wry and a little incredulous, before recovering herself.
"Well," she says, hands resting on her apron for a moment or two while she considers where to begin. "Right. These here, along the border, are marigolds," she starts, pointing everything out as she goes. "They can stay; they help keep the rabbits out. And these rows here are mostly lettuce. All we're getting rid of are the little things that are sprouting in between them — like this grass, here, or this bit of clover, or... whatever this is." She plucks the offending mystery sprout with a tsk and tosses it, more accurately this time, to the chickens. "It should all come up easily enough. If you unearth any worms, you can leave them, but grubs or slugs can go straight to that lot." She jerks her thumb towards the chickens for emphasis, then glances over at Anne. "Make sense?"