She found him in the wild garden.
Of course she did.
The honest part. The part that didn't have to be a garden. His part, as much as it was hers — more his now, since the unshuttering, since the morning he'd stood at the northwest corner of the grounds and been at full intensity for four hours and come back to sit in the long grass and breathe.
He was on the stump.
She came through the long grass.
He looked up.
She sat beside him — not across, beside, the warden's position, the centre-hold.
They looked at the overgrowth.
"I know why you've come," he said.
"I know you know," she said.
He breathed.
"The sixth connection," he said.
"Yes," she said.
He was quiet for a moment.
He looked at the apple tree — visible from here, over the wild section's edge, its leaves fully out, the
