boots, but also possessed pale blue, silver and white embroidery; or a mane the hue of frosted cranberries…
“What’s got in to you Haye,” Flora said, sweeping past Haymarlen, seizing Hergewick and whisking him into an upright position. “He’s mine. Use lemon trousers for your bit of charity.”
“And he would really be able to apologize to you if he’s out-cold from a connection with Moonbole,” said Haymarlen.
“I’d let Moonbole spank him if it made him feel better,” said Flora, dragging Hergewick up to the tree. “Tell me, Fontarius, what did you identify this tree as being not long ago?”
“A—an acer, Madame,” Fontarius began, looking at the tree, then at Flora. “…A what…?” Flora whispered.
“An Acer,” Fontarius gulped. “And a fine one too.” “What species.”
“P–p–pseudoplatanus, Madame. The Sycamore.”
Haymarlen groaned, whilst Flora continued to gaze at Fontarius. “How did your crime-fighting deducements come to that conclusion?”
“Why the leaves, Madame,” Fontarius answered, frowning slightly. “Five radiating veins with a matching set of lobes. Almost like a hand, and similar to an astrantia.”
“But an astrantia is a flower,” Flora continued.
“Very true, Madame,” said Fontarius. “It and the Maples share this ‘palmate’ leaf shape.”
“Which also means that it is possible that not every tree with palmate leaves is an acer?”
“…possibly…”
“Just agree with her!” Haymarlen grated.
“Let him mull it over, Haye,” said Flora releasing Fontarius. “Look at the leaves, Fontarius, and the bark. Then make your answer. And let it be the right