#fleetiing

After having my sign up tutorial with Hannah this morning she told me I need to narrow down what I am looking at. For example currently I was looking at deforestation all over the world whereas Hannah suggested looking at deforestation closer to home for example The New Forest! This is quite an interesting one as it wasn’t always a national park and at one point they were cutting down a lot of trees and not planting any in their place. They have now devised a ‘tree strategy’ to protect the trees within the National park. It mentions that in the towns and villages, approximately 80% of trees are in private ownership... This reflects the wider situation across the country. There is not enough space to plant and establish new trees on public land.

@fleetiing

He’s very proud of the dinner he’s made this time. The veggies are just right with a perfect sauce-to-crunch ratio. The fish is pretty nicely done as well, though obviously not up to par with his sister’s recipe.

Still. Not too shabby.

“Did you think this was a negotiation?” He asks, picking up a piece of broccoli and popping it in his mouth. It even tastes good. Hell yes. Personal victory achieved!

“If you’re going to stay in my house, you’re going to follow my rules. Wanted international criminal or not.”

[text:] About a 2.

And you’re the fifth person to try me.

Yashamaru said nothing-- nothing since he came here, really. He’ll continue to stay silent as the grave until he becomes it.

See, ANBU training in Suna goes deep. It makes you like bone where every new crack just makes you harder. But it’s not his ANBU training that keeps him silent... at least not entirely. It’s his training as a medic. Being little more than a child and seeing bodies pile up faster than you can count.

“Yep.”

He fans his fingers out and the living sculpture bounces up onto his fingers and tweets a little song. It’s a feat of transfiguration, giving life to clay. It brings a happy smile to his face as he holds it out to Gaara.

“Here, hold it.”

  The little clay bird flitted between his hands and gave off a hollow chirp. Gaara cupped it carefully, half expecting it to hop off his palm and shatter to the floor in pieces.

  The First Years had practiced hamsters into matchboxes in Transfiguration the week before. After thirty minutes, Gaara’s had still sported orange tufts. He had stolen the fur-covered matchbox to practice the spell in his own time - for nothing but perfection would be acceptable.

harry potter starters.

“Gryffindor.” He points at the red and gold tie that hangs around his neck. “What about you, kiddo?”

  Gaara wrinkled his nose. Were all students so condescending toward first-years?

  “Where ...”

  On second thought, letting him know he had already gotten lost, and on his very first night in the castle, probably would not help.

  He glanced around, as if the correct way to his dormitory would appear as suddenly as that damn staircase had shifted beneath his feet.

“Nope. My life’s pretty damn boring, so I spend my time watching people in the park. What about you, red? Nothing better to do than bother me?”

  Gaara tightened his grip on his schoolbag. Every day for weeks he had come here to do his homework with only the sunset and his own thoughts for company, and now --