Grey finds the yard impressive. Granted, he doesn't have a lot to go on, not having seen a remarkable number of gardens in his life. This one involves flowers, and that's really enough for him. He has no gloves either, and doesn't think anything of the dirt on his skin. He's more fascinated by the plants he's tending, and he always reaches for the most colourful among them.

He is trying to learn from Will, though. He's already adopted the same crouching stance, and he's leaning forward in the same way, and he digs when Will does and copies the way he puts them in the ground.

These were Abigail's flowers, he thinks. He wonders if Will still misses her. He'd gone home, after all, presumably to find her again. Grey doesn't know yet.

He finishes with one manure bag, patting the past of it down to cover the roots of the roses he's just planted. He taps Will's arm for attention, and points at his bag too. Does he need another one, or is he making this go further than Grey? He isn't ever really sure how much is the right amount.