One day, Ilde thinks of the garden and the Station takes her there - not to the circular gardens which she knows so well, but to a different place entirely. This garden looks exactly like one she might imagine given the thought. It's tiered to her specifications, ordered to her particular delights. It isn't large, and there's something alien and strange to the Station's walls and dimensions even here, but surely it's close enough to count. Moreover, there are places where the flower beds are fresh and unplanted; there are small seedlings learning to grow; there are plants who had gone wild waiting to be pruned and tended.

In the center of this particular secret garden, Cathaway has taken a seat on a stone. She is brushing her fingers across the fronds of some alien fern, delicately examining the segmented leaves with their gentle organic fuzz. She looks up when Ilde appears, and a small sliver of pleasantness murmurs like a breath across the link wound between them.

"This place you've made is nice."