When Donovan startled awake the next day, his room was already warm with the light of late morning. Rather than the sharp fatigue of yesterday’s early start, he only had to stretch to pull through his grogginess as he got out of bed. By the time he finally made it downstairs, Leland was gazing mindlessly into space, idly rocking an empty cup. With the creak of the wooden stairs, he quickly snapped to attention and his hazel eyes lit up like the sun.

“Ah, good morning, your highness!”

“You didn’t wake me up?” Donovan yawned. He picked up an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table as Leland rose and stretched his lower back.

“Thought you could use the sleep.”

“Hm,” studying the discarded plate of crumbs and dirty knife alongside the fruit, Donovan quirked the corner of his lips,”Let’s be on our way, then.”

Without the stop at the shepherd’s to delay them, they arrived at the orchards by noon. Not yet scattered to the trees as the day before, many of the orchard hands had gathered for a meal and regroup before their afternoon tasks. Among them was the head of the house, his tired eyes now hardened as he directed his workers. A touch of confusion crossed his face as he saw Donovan and Leland approach.

“You’ve returned? Haven’t you gotten what you need?”

“Ah, my dearest elder, we thought we might ask if we could observe for another day. Just a few more questions…”

“Spare me the nonsense, what do you want to know, now?”

Always quick to recover, Leland requested an explanation of how the orchard ran day to day. Gesturing vaguely as lunch wrapped up and people began to trickle back to work, the old man gave an indifferent answer.

“About half work on the harvest, the others get to work controlling the infection.”

After a few more exchanges and a shared nod between them, the boys took their separate ways with each of the groups: Leland with the harvest, and Donovan the other. Just as it was at the inn that fateful night, Leland was quick to strike up conversation with a pair of the most seasoned, eldest workers among the group.

“Tell me, brother, does this family pay well?’

“Why, tired of kissing a prince’s ass for a living?” one laughed, earning a snicker from his friend. Leland gave a half-hearted 'hah'.

"You just seem to know the way around here. Do the same faces return every year, or…?"

"Rodin, here, and I work year 'round. Half of these folks will be gone with the harvest, but they're mostly familiar faces."

"Mostly?" Leland adjusted his grip on the stack of baskets he was carrying.

"You get some kids now and again, green as hell. Like Seigle there, for example."

Ahead of them strode the sour youth from the day before who had abandoned Lee and Don. A scowl rested permanently on his russet brow.

"You don't say…"

Little time passed before they began to break into the trees, each person allowed a ladder for their work. Lee went about looking busy, a skill he'd fine-tuned quite well as a teen, and perused between the busy workers. As many as four baskets rested beneath each ladder, two for each satchel strapped on their shoulders when they climbed up to harvest. Small and large apricots ready for picking were separated and carried until the bags swelled to near bursting. Beneath the limbs they plucked from, weak or discarded fruit littered the ground like seashells jeweled on a low tide shore. Without the watchful eye of his companion, Lee was happy to indulge a quick bite from one, careful to avoid the bruised flesh. In his carefree sleuthing, he at last came upon a ladder set a few trees away from the others.

The baskets were scarcely filled and haphazardly set out, as thoughtless as their owner above. Seigle was perched atop a thick, lower limb, a picking stick or bursting harvesting bags traded for a small paring knife. Any fruit that did pass through his hands were dropped unceremoniously below into a basket, not even a glance given to aim for any particular one. Otherwise, his back was squarely turned from Lee as he fiddled in the canopy, an occasional limb being pulled into his grasp before snapping harshly back into place. Tossing his snack away, Lee wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“It’s a wonder you haven’t been drawn and quartered for the mess you’re making of this poor tree!”

Siegle jumped with a start, nearly dropping his knife as he whipped his head around. Lee had ascended half the rungs of the ladder, a smug smile playing on his face.

“It’s not what you think! I was only-”

“Only wasting half the fruit up there? Look at this, you can’t even sort properly,” Lee gestured below, but rose only higher,”what’s the use of that knife anyways?”

Seigle’s palen face recovered a fraction of its color, his haughty attitude slowly inching its way back, “To prune and pick fruit, clearly.”

By this point, Lee had reached Seigle’s level, but much to the boy’s surprise he only let out a loud, melodious laugh. Feigning a wipe of tears, Lee leaned over the ladder with a chuckle, a hint of roguish glee in his eye.

"Apricots hardly need a hand being picked. Or are you just that incompetent?"

Seigle upturned his nose and sneered, "Bugger off, I can pick apricots however I want!"

"Perhaps, but then what about all of the fruit you've dropped?"

"That's-"

"The branches you've snapped?"

"It's none of your-!"

“What are you doing here, kid?” Though Lee's tone was condescending, Seigle felt a shadow of oppression in the question, as though the man, in all his jest, was seeing right through him. His jaw clenched, vulnerable from the flurry of questions and poised for the next.

"And just what are you doing to these trees?"

Seigle's hand gripped tightly around his knife, fingernails stained deep ginger. Poultice remained packed between his nails, his other hand rested upon a tell tale gash in the bark. From far below, such a mark would be invisible- at most a blur in the warm fray of the canopy. However, as Leland sat atop the ladder, the scarred trunk seemed to bleed the smeared pulp, as much a snitch as the shock on Seigle's face.

Time seemed to limp lamely on for a few moments, even the wind in the leaves growing still. Though the rustle of far off workers drifted by, not a word was passed as the two locked in steady gaze. Only the low creak of the ladders rungs dared to rumble out. The victor was clear.