“Before we get going, where exactly are we? I'm assuming we’re somewhere in Juwele since you know who I am.” Franceth was already at the top of the stairs, palm firmly grasped around the doorknob, Marlow peeking out of his pockets.

“You're in my house,” Marlow answered, matter-of-factly

Franceth, removed his hand from the doorknob, scratching the back of his head . “Sorry, I don’t think you understood the question. I know we’re in your house, but what district is your house in.?”

“That was a joke, I knew what you meant. We’re in Wachum Village, don't know if you’ve heard of it.”

He turned away in embarrassment. His long period of isolation had made it difficult for him to pick up on social cues, especially sarcasm.

Despite his lack of social skills, he was quite familiar with Wachum Village. Being one of the first few areas mentioned in the 4th edition of ‘A Geography of Deluc’ the newest book in the series, only having been released a few months earlier. The previous entries in the series had focused on the three main countries in Deluc. Juwelen, Magien, and Kriesta. However the 4th book was a much more interesting read, detailing some of the more obscure yet most important regions in Deluc.

Wachum village was quite a small region, built right on the border of Juwelen. It was a farming area, famous for being one of the only producers of rubiberries, one of the most popular fruits in Juwelen. This was due to the mineral content in the soil, having the perfect quantities of each to grow the rare and demanding crop.

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” Franceth answered, eyes closed, recalling as many details as possible.

“Real quick, before I open the basement door, there's a few things you need to know.”

Franceth yawned, settling down on the stairs once again, careful not to put too much pressure on at once.

“My ma’s upstairs and she has no idea about any of this. You rat on me and I’ll kill you”

Franceth was no longer sure whether Marlow was joking or serious, playing it safe with a single nod. “Does she know about this?” he asked, pointing to the rune on his leg, no longer hidden under the large rip in his pants.

“Nah, she knows I carve runes, but as far as she knows it’s strictly for my furniture carpenting. I’d appreciate it if you tried and covered that up somehow, maybe wear the pants backwards.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. He didn’t particularly like the idea, but he wasn’t looking to start any family fights. “Fine, but as soon as we can, we’re stitching these pants up.” He slowly stripped off the baggy trousers, observing his low-quality cotton undergarments.

“Stop being weird man, hurry up and turn them around.” Marlow’s voice was extremely high pitched compared to earlier, earning another laugh from Franceth. He pulled them back on, the backwards pants a much more awkward fit.

“Alright Alright, can you unlock the door now? This stale air is killing me ” He let out a hacking cough to emphasise the statement, the smell of mildew growing stronger by the minute. Marlow concentrated once again and activated the rune.

The large symbol carved symmetrically onto the door lit up, glowing a powerful white, revealing thousands of dust particles gracefully floating through the beam. Franceth stepped back, raising his arm in front of his eyes, the light bending through his fingers and striking into his eyes. Marlow himself was also extremely light sensitive, crawling onto the back of Franceth’s neck in order to avoid being blinded by the beam.

A few seconds passed before the light died down, dimming to a warm orange colour before completely dying out. Franceth removed his arm from in front of his eyes and gave the door a light push, revealing the rest of the house.

He shuffled past the door, leaning against the stone brick wall, legs and knees restricted by the incorrectly worn pants. Marlow’s mother turned around to look at him, lifting her head from the novel she was reading.

“Good afternoon mother.” Marlow’s mother gave him a strange look as he leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, having shuffled into a somewhat comfortable position.

“You ok? You’re acting a bit strange.” She got out of her chair and walked over to him, putting the back of her palm, against his forehead. “No fever” she mumbled, moving her hand towards his wrist.

“Hey man, I don’t know if you’ve realised this but I don’t talk like that. Please don’t say anything weird” Marlow was sitting on his shoulder, nervously tapping his feet against his shirt.

Franceth avoided the palm, stepping back from her.“I’m Ok… just a little drowsy.”

“If you say so, I just don't want you suffering in silence.” She frowned, sitting back in her chair, holding the book in front of her face to hide the few tears that had started forming.

“Man this really sucks... The harvest should be ripe today, tell her you’re heading to the market.” Due to his insect appearance, Marlow was unable to express his emotions, however at that moment he was experiencing a deep unease, unable to watch his mother so distraught.

“I’m going to head to the market,” Franceth said, bending down a little to read the cover of the novel she was reading. It was a romance novel he had read a few years back named ‘The red swan’. Despite the fact that romance wasn’t his favourite genre, he had appreciated the author's writing style, finding it quite similar to one of his favourite authors.

“you can bring the harvest of rubiberries to the market while you’re at it.” she sniffled, wiping away the last few of her tears with a handkerchief. “By the way, your pants are on backwards.” she said, noticing the awkward way he was walking. He blushed, turning away “I’ll fix it.”

He slowly traversed the house, taking several looks behind him to imprint the position of each room in his mind. Marlow guided him around like a lost tourist, getting increasingly impatient with his poor navigational abilities. Marlow reminded him to pick up several items along the way, including a freshly washed pair of trousers, his carpenting equipment, a sack to carry the berries in, a leather backpack, and his grandfather’s journal, which elicited quite a reaction from Franceth when he had discovered who Marlow’s grandfather had been.

“Are you kidding me, you’re grandfather’s Earnan Harveye?!” Franceth said, flipping through the pages like an overexcited toddler.

“I’m surprised you know who he is considering how long ago he lived.” Marlow was starting to get quite bored, having spent the last 30 minutes trying to lead a stranger around the house he knew like the back of his hand.

“Are you kidding me, he’s ranked 34th in the encyclopedia of the most important mages in history.” Franceth was already deep into the book, grinning like a maniac as he read through each entry.

This greatly annoyed Marlow, due to his high opinion towards rune architecture. Calling a rune architect a mage was like comparing planning a house, to building a house. He lightly nipped at Franceth’s neck causing him to drop the journal, bouncing twice before laying open on the floor.

“What was that-” He was cut off, as Marlow went on a long mental rant about the difference between rune architects and mages. He made a mental note never to mention rune architecture again.

It was around 4:00 when they had finally exited the small cottage, all the items stored away in his leather pack. He heaved the backpack behind him, not used to lifting heavy weights, or any weights for that matter. He looked up, observing the three huge plots of lush pink berries, at least 100 bushes per plot.

“So, what are we doing?” He asked, mesmerised by the unrefined yet beautiful environment in front of him.

“We’ll be harvesting the plot at the back, usually takes about 2 hours, but since this is your first time, I’d say it's gonna take 3 hours.” He dropped his pack, taking the sack out and walking toward the plot giddy with excitement at the chance of a new experience.

His initial optimism had disappeared after the first hour, replaced with pain and frustration, his hands covered in scratches and cuts from the large thorns running along the branches. He roughly sucked his thumb, the metallic taste of blood running through his mouth. “I think this would have gone better if I had gloves.”

Marlow gave him a sympathetic look, remembering his first few times harvesting. “You’ll learn to avoid them soon enough.”

An hour and a half later the sack was full, Franceth’s hands now thoroughly calloused and scarred. The sun had started setting, illuminating the field in a vibrant orange, blending harmoniously with the bright pink berries on the field. He picked a berry out of the bag and tossed it in his mouth, biting down hard. Marlow tried to warn him, however it was too late to stop him.

He spit out the completely undamaged berry, holding his hand over his mouth. “You sure these are ripe.” He gently clutched at his jaw, his tooth still sore from the forceful bite he had taken earlier

“You aren’t supposed to eat them raw you idiot, also you don’t have to speak out loud to me, I can see your thoughts.”

“Would have been nice to know that earlier.” Franceth quickly tried to clear his mind, quite embarrassed by his previous thoughts.

“It’s too late, I’ve already seen everything. Anyway, you gotta beat the fuck out of these berries before they are anywhere near edible. It’s not called Whachum village for nothing.”

“So, how exactly do we do that.” He stood clueless in the middle of the field, the bushes all now completely bare. Marlow leaped off his shoulder, and started crawling west, towards the edge of the farm, turning back every few seconds to make sure he was following. Franceth found it quite hard to track the small bug, however, his polished exoskeleton, reflecting the setting sun, made him much easier to spot.

Marlow turned around, having reached his desired destination. Franceth arrived seconds later, observing the wide tree stump in front of him. It was already dark by then, the sun having finished setting. He looked across the tree stump, careful not to sit on the critter as he took a seat.

“Now you just gotta, tie the sack up and smash it against the stump until their tender.” If he had done it earlier he would be able to make quick work of it. However picking berries and lugging a sack around in the hot sun had severely exhausted him. He smashed the sack against the stump again and again, taking a few moments between each swing to lift it back up, his hair moist and disheveled. 10 minutes of hard labour later, the berries were sufficiently soft, his shirt and pants soaked in the pink juice, uncomfortably sticking to his skin.

He collapsed onto the grass, embracing the cool breeze blowing against his skin, as he caught his breath. “That was a lot of work.” he sighed, putting the pink-stained sack back into the backpack, closing the lid. “Guess we’ll have to go to the market tomorrow.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It's only 7:00, we got plenty of time.”

Franceth groaned, seriously starting to miss his soft cool mattress in the palace. “What do you mean we’ve got plenty of time? It’s already pitch black, I don’t even know where you are.”

Marlow, crawled onto his sleeve, rubbing his prickly leg on his hand to signal his location. Franceth pulled back, wincing as the leg rubbed along a deep scar. “We’ll be fine man, I’ve done this trip plenty of times. As long as you don’t do anything stupid we’ll be fine.”

Franceth’s stomach grumbled, having not had a meal since lunch. He felt around in his pocket, counting the few copper coins in his pocket. He recalled the pamphlet he had read on Juwelen street food, Enough for a leg of turkey. “Alright, I trust you. Lead the way.”