Anne looks attentively as Greta points out each piece in turn, the flowers that stay, the vegetables, the things that need to be pulled up. She glances back at the chickens, that faint smile returning for just a second — there are so few animals in this city, most days all she sees are a few distant birds and some dogs on leads, and she hadn't realized how much she missed the noisy presence of livestock — before turning back to Greta with a serious nod.

She waits, watching Greta for a moment longer before she starts in herself, pulling up some grass as directed, tossing it to the hens. She works slower than Greta, a little more thoughtful, not wanting to disturb anything important, and also because it just feels good. It feels like real work, even something so small and simple; the first work she's done in a long while.

"Your girls off somewhere?" she asks after a moment. The silence doesn't bother her, which in itself sets her at ease; but she finds she wants to speak anyway.