by Herbert the Lost

Oft ‘pon rambling through the woods avoiding bears have I spotted some plant whose like I have never seen before, and concluding that I was a blithering idiot for failing to notice it in the past. Equally as oft have I concluded that I was a worse idiot for not running faster from the bear.

While not all my readers may share my proclivites for tree-climbing, it occurred to me that mayhap mine information might serve some humble purpose.

The two most unique flower plants in the Britannian countryside are the orfleur and the whiteflower, also called white horns.

The orfleur is notable for its massive orange-red blossoms, which dwarf marigolds like the sun dwarfs you (sic) common fireball spell. The odor of said blooms is best described as peppermint-apple, with a dash of garlic. ‘Tis a popular potted plant despite, or perhaps because of, its exotic nature.

Whiteflowers exude a subtle fragrance not unlike that of freshly shaven wood mixed with cool lemon ice. Their tall stands always droop with the heavy weight of their massive blooms, oft as large as a child’s head.

The flowers are so large that one may scoop out the pollen in handfuls, and during the spring season many a prank hath been played by idle boys ‘pon their sisters by dumping said pollen into their clothing drawers, causing sneezes for days.

The most interesting native tree to Britannia is the spider tree. The reason for its naming is obscure, but may have to do with the twisted gray stalks from which the spherical canopy sprouts. ‘Tis something of a misnomer to term these “trunks” as they are spindly and flexible. Spider trees provide a fresh, piney smell to a room and are therefore often potted.

In jungle climes, one finds the blade plant, whose sharp leaves oft collect water for the thirsty traveler, yet can draw blood easily.

The deadliest plant, if you can call a fungus a plant, is the Exploding Red Spotted Toadstool. No pattern can be discerned to its habitats save malice, for merely approaching results in the cap exploding with powder, noxious gas, and tiny painful pellets flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, ’tis impossible to tell it apart from the Ordinary Red Spotted Toadstool save through experimentation.

Truly odd among the varied flora of Britannia, however, are those which bear names clearly alien to our tongue. Among these I name the Tuscany pine (for I have never seen a region of this world named Tuscany), the o’hii tree, whose very name sounds like some tropical isle, and the welsh poppy, which while different from an ordinary poppy in color and appearance, is prefaced with the odd word “welsh,” which as far as I know means to forgo paying a debt.