Muriati

The entire garden is beautiful and florid, full of lush vegetation and bright flowers, however, today you've wandered into an area that seems to be devoid of the usual flowers. You're surrounded by small, bare bushes and thick, soft ferns. Here, under the heavy canopy of trees, it seems particularly humid.

A husky voice whispers through the trees, "Hello there."

You look around, wondering exactly where that voice came from. You look up, having learned your lesson before, but fortunately, no one is loitering above you. To your right, pink and green paws push the large ferns aside, revealing a reclined bogsneak.

"I'm Muriati, and these are my gardens." She throws her arms wide with a flamboyant, somewhat flailing gesture, clearly very proud of her home.

Gardens, you wonder. This was certainly the least garden-y place you've been in weeks, perhaps months. It's all a dark green. It's still lush, and it's rather beautiful still, but you can't help but think it's not much to look at for a garden.

She furrows her brow, having caught on to your lack of enthusiasm about her "garden", and you get a little nervous.

"My garden is green for a reason, darling. I have lovingly cultivated it for many years, freeing it from the unnecessary colors of the land around it. Isn't it easier on the eyes?"

You have to admit, maybe it is kind of nice to not be looking at every color you've ever seen all at once.

"In fact," she says, "I am the most beautiful thing here."