The Knight has some taste, is what he observes. He's not one for candles himself. A lumafly's light is steadier to work by and less damaging if it's knocked. He... does understand that's rather not the point, usually. (Also, they are picking up eating utensils. For other people. Good.)

The park is quite small, and mostly paved; an iron-wrought roof of a sort arches overhead like a canopy, designed to look like leaves, though it's not solid and does nothing to keep out the rain. The pavings make swirling patterns that meet in the centre to make the usual Hallownest crest, and here and there are stone-lined shapes of damp earth that used to be planted beds, once upon a time.

There is nothing in them but dark earth now, except in a far corner where some dull-looking fungi seem to have endured, and thrived, and taken over most of the earth in that corner and a wall.

Lemm takes a meandering path towards a decorated bench, under a trellis still sporting the withered remnants of whatever was growing on it. There's a sign here - Please do not feed the Maskflies.

A tarp of sorts has been draped over the top of the trellis, and the bench is as dry as anything gets in the City of Tears.

"Not in a rush, are we?"