The day after their trip into the woods passed in a slow, comfortable haze.
Morwenna didn't wake until the sun was already high, its bright rays falling across her duvet and making the dust motes dance in the air.
She remained in bed for a long while, her small body sinking into the soft mattress. Her legs still ached from the previous day's activities, and faint red scratches marked her palms where the rough bark of the climbing tree had scraped her skin.
Cinder lay curled against her side, a warm, heavy weight beneath the blankets. His fur rose and fell with each slow breath. Neither of them seemed particularly eager to move, content to stay in the golden warmth of the late morning.
When Morwenna finally wandered into the kitchen, her bare feet pattering against the wooden floor, the house was quiet and peaceful.
Jane sat at the table with a thick, leather-bound book open in front of her, her red hair catching the sunlight.
Jack occupied the armchair in the corner, his eyes closed and his hands resting over his stomach. Saoirse was stretched out on the sofa, her feet propped up on the armrest as she cradled a steaming mug of tea. The faint scent of herbs clung to her clothes, likely from their walk through the damp forest the day before.
For a while, nobody said much. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional turn of a page. They shared thick slices of bread spread generously with yellow butter, sipping their tea and enjoying the quiet.
Saoirse seemed perfectly at ease. She sat quietly, watching the long grass beyond the window sway gently in the breeze, without any sign of restlessness.
"Aren't you bored?" Morwenna finally asked. Her voice sounded rather loud in the quiet room.
Saoirse turned away from the window. Her expression remained calm.
"No."
"But you travel all the time."
"I do."
"Don't you want to go somewhere else?"
Saoirse considered the question for a moment. Then a small, knowing smile appeared on her face.
"I'm here, little monster. That's somewhere."
Morwenna thought about her answer, turning the words over in her mind. She didn't quite understand what Saoirse meant, but somehow, they felt true.
She eventually returned to her bedroom and climbed back into bed. The cool sheets welcomed her, and Cinder padded after her, his claws clicking softly against the floorboards. Before long, they had both settled down for another nap.
. . . .
The following morning brought a return to their usual routine.
Dew covered the grass beneath a vast, cloudless sky, turning every blade silver in the early sunlight. Saoirse led them through their morning exercises, guiding them through the familiar movements. They stretched their arms toward the sky, leaned from side to side, then slowly folded forward before rolling upright again. Morwenna's hair brushed the damp grass as she bent down.
Her muscles were beginning to remember the movements. Her legs no longer protested quite as much when she stretched, and her arms rose without the stiff resistance she had felt in the previous days.
When they finished the final movement, Saoirse gave a short nod of approval.
"Much better."
Breakfast was a hearty affair that filled the kitchen with the smell of sizzling meat and warm bread. The table was crowded with plates of crisp bacon, soft poached eggs, and thick slices of ham that Jack had cooked in a heavy pan. Jane moved between them with quiet efficiency, pouring tea that smelled of bergamot.
Morwenna ate with great enthusiasm, finishing two slices of heavily buttered toast before reaching for a third.
Jack was reaching for the last rasher of bacon when he spoke.
"Margaret mentioned that the apples are ready for picking."
Jane nodded as she set down the teapot.
"We should give her a hand today. She has quite a few trees to get through."
"How many?" Morwenna asked around a mouthful of toast.
"More than you could count in an afternoon," Saoirse replied, leaning against the counter. "She has been looking after that orchard for thirty years."
Morwenna thought of the orchard behind Margaret's main house. She imagined branches bending beneath the weight of ripe fruit and tall wooden ladders leaning against the moss-covered trunks.
"Can I climb?"
"If the ladder is steady," Jack answered, looking directly at her, "and you don't go wandering too high into the branches."
Morwenna finished her breakfast and drank all her milk, leaving only a white ring at the bottom of the glass. Her stomach was full, and her legs felt ready for the day's work.
The walk to Margaret's house was pleasant. The path had dried, and the grass held the growing warmth of the morning sun. Cinder galloped ahead through the wildflowers before doubling back to check on them, his russet tail wagging the entire time.
They found Margaret in the middle of the orchard, her apron pockets bulging with tools and a wicker basket hanging from her arm. Rosie was already there, perched on a low branch as she reached for an apple.
"Good timing, you lot!" Margaret called, wiping her brow. "The trees are practically groaning under all this fruit."
She handed Morwenna a small, sturdy basket woven from willow.
"You can start with the lower branches. Just pick the ones you can reach without climbing for now."
Morwenna accepted it, feeling the smooth, cool handle against her palm. The trees were full of red and green apples, some hidden among the leaves and others hanging in plain sight. She reached up and picked her first one, twisting it until the stem came free with a satisfying little snap.
"Not the green ones!" Rosie called from her branch, her legs swinging. "Only the red ones. The green ones aren't ready yet!"
Morwenna examined the apple in her hand. Most of its skin was crimson, though a stubborn patch of green remained near the top. She decided to put it in her basket anyway. She liked its weight.
The next one was a deeper red, followed by another with pale pink stripes. Then she found a small, dark apple that looked almost purple in the shade of the leaves.
At the next tree, Jack was already halfway up a tall ladder, filling his basket at a steady pace. Jane stood below, catching any apples that slipped from his hands and arranging them in a large wooden crate. Saoirse was farther away, talking with Margaret. Her own basket remained empty, as she seemed more interested in their conversation than in picking fruit.
Morwenna moved along the lower branches, searching for more apples. Eventually, she spotted a particularly plump red one hanging just beyond her reach. She stretched her arm as far as she could, but her fingertips barely brushed its skin.
"Use the little ladder," Rosie suggested. She had climbed down and finished collecting the apples within her reach. Her face was flushed, and several strands of hair had escaped her messy ponytail. "The wooden one by the fence."
Morwenna carried her basket over, the apples bumping against one another as she walked. The ladder's rungs had been worn smooth by years of use, and its wooden frame had faded to a weathered gray.
She climbed carefully, placing one foot on the first rung before moving to the next. By the time she reached the third, her waist was level with the heavy branches.
From up there, the orchard looked different. She could see the long rows of apple trees stretching across the field and the wooden crates gradually filling with fruit.
Rosie had moved to the next tree. She hooked her basket over one of the lower branches and looked over at Morwenna.
"You have to twist them, Nimue. Don't just pull. Twist."
Morwenna reached for an apple and followed her instructions, gripping it firmly before turning her wrist. The stem came away cleanly without tearing the branch.
"Good!" Rosie approved.
They continued picking together as the sun climbed higher. The work soon settled into a comfortable rhythm. The air grew warmer, carrying the sweet, slightly fermented smell of apples that had fallen and begun to soften in the grass.
After a while, Margaret brought over another crate filled with the morning's harvest.
"These are for eating," she explained, pointing to the crispest-looking apples. "The ones in those big bins over there are going to be used for cider."
Morwenna looked toward the large wooden bins beside the shed.
"What is cider?"
"Apple juice with a bit of a kick," Margaret answered with a mischievous wink. "That one is strictly for the grown-ups."
Morwenna reached into the eating crate and picked out a golden apple. Its skin seemed to glow in the sunlight.
"That's a Golden Pippin," Margaret told her with a smile. "The best-tasting apple in the whole orchard. Go on, give it a try."
Morwenna took a bite. The skin was thin, and the flesh was crisp and sweet without being too sugary. It tasted like summer.
She finished the whole apple and tossed the core into the long grass for the birds.
"Good," she declared, wiping her chin.
Margaret laughed.
"That's the spirit!"
As the afternoon wore on, the crates continued to fill until some were almost overflowing. Morwenna's arms had grown tired, and her fingers were sticky with apple juice.
Saoirse finally joined the picking, though once she started, she made up for the time she had spent talking. Her basket was full within minutes.
"Show-off," Jack called from his high perch on the ladder.
"Efficient," Saoirse corrected lightly.
She climbed to the higher branches, where the apples were larger and harder to reach. She picked them quickly, dropping each one into the crates below with such accuracy that she rarely missed.
Morwenna watched her for a moment before deciding to try it herself. She picked a small apple and aimed for the crate below.
It bounced off the rim and disappeared into the tall grass.
"Try again," Saoirse encouraged her from above.
Morwenna picked another apple. She narrowed one eye, took careful aim, and let it go.
This time, it landed with a soft thud right in the middle of the pile.
"That's it!" Saoirse praised her.
By the time the final crate was full, Margaret wiped her hands on her stained apron and looked over the day's work.
"That's plenty for one day. You have certainly earned your keep."
She sent them home with a large basket of apples for their own kitchen.
They walked back beneath the low, golden light of the early evening. The wicker handle dug into Morwenna's tired palms, and the sweet scent of the freshly picked apples filled the cooling air.
"You did a grand job today," Jack said, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle.
Morwenna looked down at the mixture of red, green, and golden apples in her basket. She had picked every one of them herself.
Her arms ached, and she was thoroughly exhausted, but she couldn't help smiling as she walked beside her family.
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