It is the morning of the next day. Fresh, having slept, her mind lost deeply inside of a heavy warmth, opens her eyes. Straight away, she notices something odd. Well, no… more aptly said, she notices a lot of odd things all at once.

Pulling her head back, she pulls the blanket out of her own mouth and blows her lips to get the fuzz off of them. Apparently, she had been chewing on it in her sleep. This makes sense to her though as she thinks, with a tired mind, about the dream which was having. She was flying over a lush field of grains, sitting on the back of a giant sheep and the two of them were collecting eggs for breakfast from the surrounding forest.

She sighs. She woke up before they got to cook them together. She was looking forward to that. But as she sighs, she notices the second oddity of the morning. There is a smell in the air, that mixes in with the cool, refreshing breeze which streams in through the balcony. Clutching her blanket to her body, she sits upright and looks around, seeing the third odd thing. Everyone is already awake by the looks of it. Usually she is always the first one up and about.

But today, it appears that not only have the others managed to get up before her, but they’re also busy at work. There is a scratching sound as someone walks by with a broom from the pantry area. Fresh looks up at Basil who spares her a glance and then quickly looks away, back down to the ground.

“Good morning,” says Basil, continuing her sweeping with her eyes locked rigidly to the stones.

“Good morning, Basil,” says Fresh, yawning again before she feels the chill of the mountain air on her skin, where the blanket had fallen free from her grasp. Quietly yelping, she ducks back down under it and slips on her robe beneath the blanket.

Privacy is of course an issue of sorts in this living situation. In that sense, Jubilee had the right idea, wanting their own room. Fresh supposes she herself is a little clingy and overprotective, wanting to sleep in the same room as the others all the time. Especially since, in truth, they were likely the ones who would protect her in any really serious situations, rather than the other way around.

Fresh makes a mental note that maybe she should buy some pajamas, like the ones that Basil has. She doesn’t want the priestess to think that she’s weird, after all.

Getting up out of bed a minute later, Fresh manages to finish stretching, her back not hurting in the least since she got the new mattress, just as the first plate clinks against the table. She blinks, looking at Shamrock, who sets it down and then goes back to the kitchen to grab more. He and Jubilee are cooking together apparently, which Fresh thinks is cute, but also worrisome.

“Morning,” says Fresh to the two of them, who are already almost finished with their work, before she turns around to make her own bed.

“Morning,” says Jubilee.

“Good morning,” says Shamrock. “Coughee? Tea?” he asks and Fresh thinks for a second.

“Coughee please,” she answers and he nods. As she sets to work, making her bed, she wonders if she should think of a better name for the product?

Oh well, it’s too late now.

She scratches her head, finishing making her bed just as the table is fully set for breakfast. Everyone is in such a good mood today. Not that she minds, but it’s a rare day indeed. She smiles, heading over to the table just as the others all come to sit down too. Today there are pancakes, eggs and the expensive kind of sausages, though she can’t help but see that there is something odd about the pancakes that Jubilee had made.

They aren’t round, rather, they’re… blobby, kind of like a fluffy cloud. She has no idea how they managed to make that shape in a round pan.

Leaning over curiously to look, just as Basil sets down the silverware for all of them, her eyes widen in shock and she jumps to her feet, pointing at the pancakes with fear in her eyes, as she sees what it is that she is meant to see.

“It’s a sheep!” she yells, looking at Jubilee, deeply worried.

“Bleh~” says Shamrock, pouring her coughee into her cup. Basil laughs quietly this time, sipping her tea. Fresh looks at them all, wondering if there isn’t some poison powder in the air that is making them all…

- Happy and productive?

She narrows her eyes in suspicion, looking back down at the sheep pancakes before herself. Jubilee reaches over and sets down two berries on its face, adorning it with eyes that look back up her way.

“What?” asks Jubilee, sounding somewhat offended. “I thought you liked sheep.”

“I do!” argues Fresh. “But why is everyone in a good mood today?” she asks, sitting back down. “It’s a little scary.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, goo-brain?” asks Jubilee, with a bark to their voice. “Sheesh.” They sigh, crossing their arms.

Shamrock, standing between the two of them, turns his head to look back and forth at the two of them, as he comes to realize what the problem is. “The harvest moon rises,” he says, sliding her three-quarters full cup towards her, having left enough room for milk.

“Huh?” Fresh blinks, remembering this term from her grimoire. “The moon?”

“Don’t you know?” asks Basil. “It’s almost the end of summer,” explains the priestess. “Autumn will be here soon.”

Shamrock sits down and the three of them start filling their plates. Jubilee has set some aside for themselves, but seems to want to sit at the table with them right now and then just eat alone later. “So?” asks Fresh, looking in delight at the sheep pancake before her. “Thanks for cooking!” she adds on, looking at the others.

“So,” explains Jubilee. “Summer is trash. Autumn is where the real money is.”

Basil sighs. “You can’t just make it about money,” she says, shaking her head. “The end of summer is a very important time of the year to reflect on our harvests,” she explains to Fresh with a smile.

“But we aren’t farmers, Basil,” states Fresh, in the process of drowning her sheep in a mixture of dark, woody syrup and colorful jam. Basil doesn’t reply, the corners of her lips twitching a little, as she opts to take a long drink from her tea, her eyes tightly closed.

“The harvest of the soul,” says a heavy voice from next to her and Fresh looks at Shamrock, as he folds a pancake into tight roll, squeezing out a lot of the cream and berries he had stuffed inside of it just moments earlier, before lifting it and simply sliding the entire thing into his helmet at once. Fresh can’t help but worry about how sticky the man is going to get. “It was a bountiful year,” he says.

“You poetic fucks,” sighs Jubilee. “Stop talking nonsense for once and just eat, will you?”

“It isn’t nonsense and you know it,” quips Basil. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have made breakfast today,” she says. “It’s good, by the way.”

“Shut up, you kook,” says Jubilee, dryly, pointing at Basil from across the table.

Fresh, with great relish, digs into her sheep. Though she is bothered by its berry eyes that stare at her as she tries to start cutting into it. So she eats them first. She thinks she gets it. Plus the harvest moon is pretty important for her witch-crafting. She makes a note to get some ideas ready for the big night. But apparently, it’s also important for everyone else too, as a time of reflection and of thankfulness. She supposes that it’s one of those times of the year that is incredibly lonely, if you are on your own. But in contrast, all the more meaningful if you are surrounded by warmth and by the faces of those you care about.

Chewing on the sweet mixture of sheep, syrup and fruit in her mouth, Fresh looks around the table at Jubilee and Basil who are arguing, but not really doing so. It’s just how they talk to each other. She spares a glance at Shamrock, who, like an excited child is hunched over forward, carefully rolling his second pancake together with delicate care like an artisanal craftsman. Fresh realizes something, many somethings. Not the ‘new’ Fresh, but rather that deeply slumbering part of her own character that has spent so many years floating alone in the cold, deep reaches of the black-water of existence. Every aspect of Fresh realizes these same things all at once, as they look around together. They realize that her table is full of food. That her hands are full with work. That her mind is full with ideas for the future and that her house is full with more than just friends, she is surrounded on all sides by family.

All of these things for the first time in any of her lives.

Fresh gets yelled at by Jubilee, for crying onto her food. But she can’t help it.

It has truly been a bountiful harvest.