As dusk fell Harold snuck out the back of his inn and with him was a big empty sack.

The plan was to skirt around Salcret and head for a property quite a few minutes from the rest of town.

This was a favourite target of the local youths, as Harold found out all about when tagging along for a late summer apple pall.

It was an ancient tradition of their people. Involving learning the angles to approach from and most importantly when it came to successful apple palling; the timing, right at dusk when you were harder to detect but not to the point of stumbling around in the dark. You made sure to save that bit for the return trip.

Apple trees. They spotted this more open part of the forest all over, even the inn used to have one. But the best soil, with the proper affinities, that grew the fruits to a proper size for turning to drink; was all on this hill.

And the old fancy couple who lived there happily overcharged for the privilege of picking first among them, which was not a problem at all while dad was still around, but Harold had decided to resort to these childhood tricks once he had to tighten his belt.

While it did feel foolish, since they would probably give him quite a few if he just asked, he knew he could not ask too many times either and did not want this counting towards his… Neighbourly quota, so to speak.

Travelling through the forest on what seemed to be an old path had Harold considering past visits in the local woods. His perspective had changed in the past few months. When he had all the time in the world those late childhood memories had far more positives. He'd always enjoyed trying to learn all he could of every animal and plant he came across, even without knowing their names. Now most of that time spent idling seemed like a waste.

Even the trying to fit in with the other kids in town, and the hankering after every nice girl who would give him a smile, and not knowing how to hide it. The having to try and make sense of fitful people who would invite you to hang out one day and bully you the next, and then having to escape to spend the time with the animals when his temper got the best of him and he said the wrong thing.

Only to then have the drunken farmer find him, and making damn sure that the incident made that become Harold’s new 'thing'. Oh, he’s hugging the cattle, what’s next, crying over his steak?

He sighed. He was halfway there and stopped to wipe sweat from his brow. The final approach was pretty rough terrain, and unless you wanted to risk running into something noisy you needed to scale the rocks and giant roots rather than go around all the time.

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Messing with the wrong moody squirrel or oversized anthill could ruin your night, even when you had a Class, which Harold did not. Not really. Some seemingly normal beasts were just vicious.

On the final vantage he analysed his target. The last of the light gave a nice view of a flowing field of grass running down from the homestead with a small gravelly yard. The most impressive apple trees Harold knew to exist dotted the green, and the branches hung heavy.

As he dropped down from the wide root he’d been standing on, to begin his approach Harold's foot unexpectedly broke through the soil. What the hell?

For a second he figured the soil was just loose, and then it stung him. Wasp nest!?

Five, then ten, then fifteen wasps, far bigger than average, rose out of the ground before Harold thought to start running as he lost sight in favour of distance. Why is there a nest there, of all places!?

A hundred metres from the woods to the green of the orchard. He made it three steps, each stinging worse than the former, then ducked around a tree and made it another few before two wasps caught him on the shoulder, narrowly avoiding his neck.

A few seconds in a panicked rush made the rest miss, and then he spotted a tall bush of blue leaves with yellow bells hanging.

Thank the Lord of the Forest! Harold ran at the strange flowers, filled to the brim with polle, windmilling his arms like crazy, somehow without losing momentum, the wasps hot on his heels. The bells released a yellow, dusty cloud and the wasps were taken aback for just a moment. That was all Harold needed.

As they exited the cloud and caught Harold’s new direction back toward the farm, they failed to catch up but for one final sting - and then he was past the forest line. Harold collapsed on the ground, panting and holding his stinging body where he needed to highlight his hope for his body’s chemical reprieve in fighting the poison.

The wasps furiously attacked the field of energy protecting the orchard from pests, and Harold looked up, sorely tempted to taunt the aggressive beasts, despite the futility.

Everything hurt. I guess I'm just lucky not to be allergic, I think I got close to twenty stings.

But strangely the pain was already receding as he looked up at his field of prizes.