(tw: animal post-mortem)

Donovan was quick to regret those words.

Sun scarcely peeking over the horizon to turn the sky an early blue, the dew hadn't dried on the grass before the two made their way on their horses through the still morning. Leland was all smiles, humming a song as hooves clip clopped beneath him, not a hint of tire on his person. Although they had agreed on a fairly early start, this was nothing near the usual routine for Prince Donovan, so thus he rode quietly aside Leland with eyes practically closed, trusting his steed to follow the other down the path as he grasped for a moment's rest.

Amused, Leland allowed his horse to slow, eyeing Donovan's furrowed expression and loose hold on his reins. If not for his straightened back, Leland would think Donovan was a moment from falling off his saddle.

Not quite what I'd expect, but then again, I don't really know him, do I?

Donovan was a recluse member of the royal family, so scarcely was there ever not an excuse for his absences at large gatherings and events. He spent long months away from Anin's capital on numerous tours of various parts of the border, and at his age he earned a reputation for disappearing just as conflicts reached their resolutions. It was for these reasons Leland didn't feel so bad for not recognizing him in the tavern the night prior.

What a pity, I wonder if he dances as stiff as every other Anian…

With banquets and balls on his mind, Leland switched the tune he was whistling as they rode on. Unnoticed by him, one of Donovan's brows flickered in interest before once more resting. In no time at all, they arrived at their first destination.

A worn yet beautiful maiden wiped her hands on her apron as the boys unmounted their horses, a nervous but hospitable smile greeting them as they approached her quaint cottage. Endless fields rolled behind her abode, the speckles of white sheep just barely beginning to disappear over one of the distant hills. A dark dot- presumably a dog- ushered their flock. The shepherd’s wife’s eyes were bright as she politely curtsied.

"Your highness, I told my husband you'd be coming back today. We've done as you've told and left some out for you!"

The grim circumstances were not enough to overcome the excitement of a prince being in her yard, it seemed. Leading the way, she walked with a brisk pace to another cobblestone shed attached to their minimal barn and chicken coop. She shooed away a few hens as they turned the corner of the building.

As they approached, they had been downwind, but the moment they faced the back of the shed, Leland's senses were assaulted with a wall of sickly odor. A pile of limp sheep carcasses, sheared and disposed, haphazardly leaned against the cobblestone. As much as Leland was revolted, the local flies were enthused, buzzing in frantic squabbles before resting on glassy eyes or dried spackles of blood. Their bloated bodies simmered grossly in the rising sun, turning Leland's stomach in ways he hadn't prepared for. Donovan, on the other hand, continued to chat with the shepherd's wife without any change in his expression.

"And it can spread from one to another?"

"Yes, though if we catch it quickly enough we can cull it before it gets too serious."

"It must have been a difficult season for you and your husband, I apologize I couldn't act sooner,"

"Oh, no no no, your highness, no need to apologize! You're here now, aren't you? I'll leave you gentlemen to it. Call me if you need anything!"

With another curtsey she trudged back to the house to continue morning chores. Once her skirt was out of sight, Leland no longer held back and wafted violently as he gagged. Donovan glanced from the corner of his eye, the corner of his lips quirking for just a moment.

"Don't you own a few barn animals?"

"I- a few."

"I'd assume you'd be accustomed to slaughter, then."

Watching a fly dance on a lamb's clammy, swollen tongue, Leland's face began to turn green.

"It's not… on my list of responsibilities."

Donovan hummed in interest, but after a moment he wordlessly extended a hand to Leland. A delicate handkerchief was pinched in his hand, embroidered with a splash of flowers in the same color of its snowy cloth. Having been attempting to use his sleeve to no avail, Leland accepted the token graciously. At first doubting it'd be effective, he was shocked to breathe in a warm coil of mint and lavender into his nose as he pressed the fabric to his face. He mumbled a quiet thanks as he watched on, his nausea temporarily eased.

Using a stick, Donovan prodded at gums and propped up limbs with occasional pause, thoroughly combing through any anomalies. Crouched as he was, he looked like a mischievous kid poking curiously at an anthill. When he was at last satisfied with his observations, he stood up and tossed his short lived stick away.

"Anything of interest?" Leland muffled safely beneath Donovan's handkerchief. Color was beginning to slowly return to his face.

Donovan led the way back to the horses after giving him a slight smirk. "Nothing particularly shocking. Let's make our way to the orchards."

Just as he said, they gave a brief adieu to the wife, mounted their horses, and once more rode along the beaten path. A crest of trees began to rise in the distance, the sun now hung at the height of late morning. Now thoroughly awake, Donovan took the time to explain his current progress to his ill-informed companion.

The first signs of infection were patchy rashes around the face and discolored blotches on the gums. Due to the subtlety of the markings, it typically went unnoticed for days until the severity caused balding and sores. Despite the disgusting visual, the rash was ultimately not what caused these sheep to eventually die. Not directly, anyway.

"They starve to death?" Leland inquired, rearing his reins a slight to slow down his steed.

"Yes. The rash eventually spreads and becomes so severe, it's too painful to swallow or even chew. Any food forced down is often thrown up again, so it's a slow demise."

Leland became thoughtful, his eyes drifting.

"Is the fungus only successful at infecting face tissue, or can it infect other parts of the body?"

"That's an interesting thought," Donovan seemed to consider his question a moment,"I've seen some mild rashes on other areas, but nothing yet as severe as the face."

They continued in discussion as the hills rolled into dense orchards, tree limbs heavy in fruit like an arbor that stretched as far as the eye could see. Abruptly, Leland seized a low branch and mercilessly let it snap back with a rustle as he plucked its fruit. A handful of plump, crimson cherries shone like jewels in his hands. Donovan scowled immediately.

"Can you abstain from thievery while I'm present?" his sharp brows were knit closely together as he stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at Leland.

Popping a cherry in his mouth, the crook in question quirked his smile in mischief.

“Surely your highness would speak for his poor, lowly servant?”

“Criminals will be punished without any consideration for class or social ties.”

Donovan’s words were much too serious, making Leland stifle a laugh. With an amused expression, he put another cherry in his mouth, stem and all.

“You won’t get many eager suitors with that kind of stale outlook. Women don’t want to hear such bookish chivalry, you know?”

He managed to get Donovan to raise a brow, a doubtful look in his eyes.

“Then what do they want to hear?”

He immediately came to regret the question as Leland put on the theatrics, swooning on his saddle with the back of his hand on his forehead.

“Oh, dear Prince Donovan, how gracious of you to shield me from the consequences of my crime! I only wanted a cherry so because they reminded me of your delicate lips! Won’t you tell me, Your Highness, how I may ever repay you?” he leaned dangerously far off his horse, butting into Donovan’s personal space. Donovan only scoffed and rolled his eyes, though the tips of his ears felt a bit warm. Leland hummed a laugh, and seemed to finally quiet down, lulling Donovan into a false sense of security.

“You could also woo them with party tricks.”

“Party tricks?”

“Ta-da~” sticking his tongue out, Leland had endless laughter in his eyes as he presented a cherry stem, neatly twisted into the shape of a pretzel. Donovan’s ears became thoroughly red.

“You’re so crass!”

Leland was completely overcome in laughter, clutching his stomach. Without the guidance of its rider, his horse strayed closer to Donovan’s steed, allowing their legs to brush together. Once satisfied, Leland wiped light tears from his eyes.

“Learned that one from a merchant’s son. He also taught me how to shuffle a mean deck of cards.”

Donovan was wordless, his gaze fixed sternly forward, resolved to not fall for anymore of Leland’s jokes. His lack of response didn’t dishearten his companion in the slightest as he filled in the silence with his own ramblings.

“Honestly, your highness, it would do you well to lighten up a little! I suppose you can’t help it, though, Anin can be so dull when it comes to festivities. All stiff backs and operatic performers, nothing like Syna in the slightest. Even the king will step down to dance for the harvest parades- tell me, how is your dancing?”

Breaking his vigil, Donovan sighed.

“I don’t dance.”

Leland raised his eyebrows, interest piqued yet unsurprised considering how little Donovan was seen at courtly gatherings.

“Not well or not at all?”

Just as Donovan was about to answer, he gestured ahead abruptly, “Look.”

A couple of orchard hands were bundling up large sheaves of tree limbs, bursts of orange spots freckled on their leaves. Rather than clusters of ruby red cherries, their fruit more resembled raisins, shriveled and dotted with white specks of mold. Identical stacks laid intermittently further down the path as a wagon pulled by a mule meandered along to collect the finished bundles. Attracted to the rot of these weakened trees, the hum of summer insects droned much louder as they rode deeper into the orchard, followed by the chitter of song birds eagerly feasting on the easy meal. Snacking once more on his boon of healthy fruit, Leland was pleasantly surprised to hear Donovan speak up.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I don’t dance well, so I don’t dance at all.”

Leland chuckled,”Or perhaps you don’t dance well because you don’t dance at all?”

“It’s not worth the trouble to find out,” Donovan huffed. Observing Donovan’s steadfast posture and handsome face from the corner of his eye, Leland gave a small smile.

“What a pity. Maybe you just need the right teacher?”

“Many have tried, believe me.”

“Ah, but none of them were me,” Leland chuckled, pretending not to notice the boldness of his own words. Donovan was taken aback a moment, before allowing a small hum of amusement.

“If that’s what you wish to believe.”

They continued on in idle chatter until there was a break in the trees. The path widened before them to circle a cottage and various small buildings, presumably for storage and fruit processing. Multiple smaller trails branched off back into the trees, though one in particular was well tread behind the main house. Judging from the multiple personnel they’d seen on the way, it was safe to assume it led to the worker’s living quarters. Rows of baskets filled to the brim with various fruits and a few open sacks of walnuts were lined up for inspection by a weathered old man, his back bowed with age despite his visible strength from a lifetime of hard labor. Looking up at the new arrivals, his expression was wary. Leland was the first to dismount.

After a quick exchange, Leland ushered Donovan to approach. As he walked into ear shot, it seemed Leland had already begun his questioning.

“It spreads so fast, unnaturally fast- like a curse we can’t shake. We prune dozens of infected trees a day, now,” the man’s voice was cracked but clear.

“How did this start? Where?”

There was a moment where his wrinkled eyes glared coldly at Donovan before he spoke.

“We don’t know, but it must be the shepherds. I keep a healthy orchard, son, and all I know is I had never seen a single spot on my trees until a bunch of them came crying with armfuls of dead fruit. Claimed I threw out ill trimmings into their fields and their sheep got sick off it. Pah!” He tied the twine on the walnuts shut as he spoke, his hands fast and efficient with his knots. When he was done with that, he hefted up a couple of sacks and began to walk towards the storage buildings only for Leland to grab it from his hands to help.

“How did their sheep get a hold of the fruit, do you suppose?”

The old man started with a hmph, ”Maybe they did get sick off of some bad fruit, but none of my fruit, to say the least. That is until they started to mess with my trees,” he accepted Leland’s help only to pick up another bag, leading the way inside of the building,”All of the fruit on the borders of my orchard are traveler’s pick, as I’m sure you know.”

Donovan stole a glance at Leland when he heard this as the old man continued, “Either out of misplaced spite or perhaps carrying the infection themselves, one by one my entire west line of trees has been completely overtaken with rot. I used to allow them to rest under the shade as their herds cleaned up any fallen fruit, see, but with all of this nonsense happening- and they dare to put the blame on me!”

“And none of your own animals have fallen ill?”

“My pigs mostly eat fallen walnuts and waste from processing- your typical slop. The sheep and wildlife were enough to handle fruit clean up.”

“I imagine without their help the pests have gotten out of hand…”

The man spit, his scowl deep,”Nothing I can’t handle! My family has run this orchard for generations, and a little fungus isn’t going to stop us now.” Setting his bags down, Leland followed suit before leaving the building once more. Donovan trailed quietly behind him, his place for comment nowhere to be found with this sour Synan arborist. As the interview began to wind down, Leland spoke for him.

“Sir, if you’ll give us the pleasure, may we see the trees on your western orchards? Your highness is truly not here to place any blame, take my word for it! We just want this all to end as much as you.” He asked with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of youthful honesty.

As he paused before picking up a basket of fruit, the old man seemed that much more a senior, the stress of the situation apparent in his expression despite his stubborn words. With a sigh, he brought his withered hands to his lips and let out a long, low whistle.