#kill! destroy!

She grabbed the weed in her gloved hands and began to tug. It resisted for a moment, then came up easily, and sure enough, it was not an isolated plant but the end of a long, pale runner. Bryony kept the pressure up, seeing the root zigzag up through the bed, trailing tiny root hairs.  "Don't you dare break," she muttered.  She followed the runner to the lawn, still pulling. She expected it to break off in the grass, but it had grown thicker and apparently sturdier. It continued to come up through the grass, leaving a broken line of soil behind it. "What in the name of God are you doing?" asked the Beast, coming up beside her. "Don't stop me," Bryony said. "I'm pulling a weed. This is amazing." He raised an eyebrow. "If you say so..." There was really no way to explain to a non-gardener the sheer visceral joy of pulling a weed up and getting every last inch. Bryony kept tugging, hand over hand, waiting for it to break.  By the time it finally snapped, she had tracked the runner nearly twenty feet and left a scar in the lawn. She held up the end of the weed like a snake and laughed out loud.