Oliver was tending his garden. There wasn't much else to say about today, or the day before, or any of the other days preceding this one in a long stretch since Canis had been purged of Order. A small Dust Moth fluttered around the tangled vines, and anyone stumbling on this place might not, at first, realize it was a "garden" or "tended" at all.

It was hemmed in by two half-crumbled walls of stone and bone, with a pool of purified water at the center. Around this grew an abundance of moss, ferns, flowers, berry bushes, and ivy--the latter of which tended to trail up the couple of actual trees that had been grown here. It wasn't easy; they weren't doing as well as they might have in, say, Eridanus. And plenty of these plants were from Eridanus, and more from Pegasus, even Cetus. But someone (Oliver) had actually carted soil here, and the roots had eventually broken down some of the rock below. He had to maintain them with magic, and that was what he was doing now: hobbling awkwardly (because of his strange formation of limbs) from plant to plant, checking which ones needed a bit of an infusion of magic where Canis' mineral-rich but nutrient-poor stone had failed them.

Here and there a bird sang high in the branches; they were drawn here, if they were in Canis at all. It was the only place with any real greenery. And despite the trees and such, it was oddly easy to miss, and thus doubly strange to stumble on: a hidden grove of fresh air and shivering foliage in the otherwise dead, bone-filled cave.

"There you go," Oliver said aloud. He stepped back, clawed paw-hand-wing delicately patting the bark of the tree before him as the flow of magicka faltered. The tree at once looked a bit healthier, the leaves perking up, greener. Oliver smiled up at it. "Good job," he said, with an encouraging tone, as if the tree had done anything at all.