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There was little she liked more than plants and sleep. Although perhaps not in that order. She had wandered from her preferred grounds -- a meadow like area where grasses and flowers grew tall and soft -- both from the cold pushing in and from a possible compromise with the frog that had adopted her. The cold was ebbing now and shortly she would return to her home; as intriguing as the plant filled swamp was it seemed quite inhospitable for comfortable sleeping.

Today she had left her frog in a small creek and finding no new exciting plants to study, she had turned away and picked her way through trees and bushes and scurrying animals. There seemed nothing to examine. Perhaps that was liked she preferred different surroundings; the swamp seemed dull.

She had about decided to go back to the creek and collect her frog -- whether it wanted to leave or not -- when her legs broke through a bush that scraped against her forearm and found more plants than she'd seen anywhere else in the swamp. Plants that seemed to be organized and arranged. She pulled the rest of her body into the area, lowering her head to peer at the puzzle before her. How utterly odd and wonderful.

The dark colored doe's head snapped up and twisted around to look at the voice. She let her gaze sweep over the doe -- she was rather unique, too -- before turning slowly. Her steps were careful not to stamp on the plants and soon enough she was face to face with the stranger.

"Garden?" she asked. She so rarely took to leaving her little haven that she had no idea what that was. If she had been alone, heard the word in passing, she may have decided to think out what it could be. However this doe must know what it was. "And what is a garden?" she asked, face confused.

She turned that information around in her head. It sounded all right, she supposed. The sudden interjection of removing unwanted plants seems more defining.

"Oh. I suppose, then, my home is almost a garden or perhaps not," she thought. "There are many plants there, at least." She dug her hoof into the soil. "The ground is harder here."

The idea of her meadow of bluebells all neat and tidy was, well, horrible. She liked how they were everywhere with no one space being quite empty. It meant, sometimes, that plants got trampled and bent and snapped but that somehow seemed all right. There were always more.

"Yes, I suppose that would be nice," she answered. She could not quite recall if she had even bothered eating today. She spent far too much time sleeping and ignoring her stomach.

She followed after the other doe and then stopped, watching as the doe takes some leaves. Deciding to follow suit, she bent down and took a mouthful of leaves. A wrinkle of nose told that it was not quite as she expected, perhaps her tastebuds were used to a different flavor. "Should it taste like that?"