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pinkgothic:
When she next saw Mateo Kasun, he was moving between rows of snake plants. He looked at least a little rested, radiating a regular tiredness, rather than the kind that came with delerium and mental dishevelment.
They were all accustomed to the thin light of the sun here, but any people coming in more recently usually remarked that a Martian day felt like twelve odd hours of twilight. Some of the plants needed artificial light to help them thrive, the energy for the powerful lamps gathered from solar farms just outside the base, but the snake plants were happy with the illumination, and good producers of oxygen, to boot.
Mateo sat down between the plants, gently wiping accumulated particles off the imperceptibly breathing leaves.