text: She really didn’t want to wake up. "Maybe if I kept sleeping, I could convince my mom I was just really tired, maybe she’d give up on waking me up” she thought in vain. “Hazel, come on, your dad needs help in the fields. Please don’t make your poor, poor mother break her back out?” The teenager refused to buy her bluff, thinking this to be the mother’s usual form of guilt tripping. She's too strong to break her back in the fields. “I’ll be forced to go to the city by myself for the supplies, you don’t want your poor mo-” “You’re going to the city?” Hazel instantly bolted out of her bed, black hair pointing in however direction hair could physically point. She loved the idea of going to the city. Skyscrapers that would pierce the air above, the Irynwood smokestacks spewing smoke into the sky, nothing like this rinky dinky farm town. Her eyes hurt to open, crust gluing the lids shut, quickly removed with a hasty wipe of her arms. As her eyes opened unhindered, before her was her mother, built well by a life of farming with her flowing black locks and a smug smile on her face, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, her gray skin dirtied by work. “So Hazel’s finally awake, eh? Brilliant, now you can help your father in the field. He’s already got the supplies from the city an hour ago.” Her mouth was agape, offended by the deception- her own mother had turned against her! “Oh come on! Deceiver!” At this blatant deception, Hazel refused to engage with this and buried her head into my pillow, the pillow covering her ears as she tried to tune out any future lies her mother would use against me. This was of course in vain as she threw Hazel on her shoulder, pillow and all. “Hey, Ajax! I got the sloth right here!” “Thanks, Palma!” Hazel’s resistance was futile, she dropped her pillow before Palma managed to bring Hazel out of the farmhouse. The sky was dank as usual, specks of light from various directions providing the luminescence. Perhaps there was a megapede ominously arching somewhere, roaring, providing the soft but ubiquitous wind coming from all directions, all thoughts Hazel ran through her head to prepare herself for the day. In the field outside her home, burrowed into one of the giant trees that spread in all directions as far as the eye can see, was Hazel’s father, tending to the mushrooms. They were entering their mature stage, about three halves the size of her dad, standing with overalls, biceps that could decapitate any other Alva, gray skin with blue and red flecks. He could just barely clean them of parasites that would threaten the yield. “Howdy, Hazel. Have a nice rest?” “I guess, dad,” Hazel groaned as Ajax tossed her some boots to put on. Hazel knew that since he was tending the mushrooms, she’d have to help with the parasite cleaning. She inwardly cursed. Palma laid Hazel down on the ground delicately, dirt dirtying her back and the gray skin of her neck, facing upwards, her eyes half open and forcing her face into its best pout. Hazel resigned to just stare upwards at the layers separating the various zones of the forest. Her nightvision eyes could barely make out the sprawling leaves and branches that support megapedes and ants and whatever insects decided to live there, looking down from above. Meanwhile there her and her family, at the bottom of the forest. “Hey slowpoke, mind giving me a hand with these worms?” Her dad poked me with a stick. Hazel could only hope it wasn’t *that* stick. Her dad then proceeded to hand Hazel a stick, one that Hazel decided to consider as a completely *different* stick, and pulled her up. She reluctantly agreed and got to parasite hunting. Might as well take advantage of her awakened state. Hazel knew of a game humans played on the Highlands, one called “whack-a-flea”. These fleas come out of boxes and they hit them with a stick. This was the one thing that made this chore a bit fun. Hazel steeled my eyes, assuming a fighting stance she saw in a book once, a book on some human dueling style called “fencing”. She waited for those worms to come out, ready to face her unrelenting wrath. Hazel’s black eyes saw activity on the stem, she followed it diligently and he showed his ugly face, poking out of the flesh! She stabbed it with her stick and it died immediately, the stick impaling its disgusting form. She drew the stick back with a flourish, dropping the worm unceremoniously on the ground. Victory, Hazel thought. She moved onto the next mushroom, any worms that were still in the last mushroom would fall out the hole, and Hazel and her dad could kill them as needed. Track, wait, slash. Track, wait, slash. She’d go on for sixteen of the mushrooms, her dad the other sixteen. The way her dad worked was... a bit different. Hazel thought it was pretty gross, it was almost like he wrestled the worms out of the mushroom. Occasionally Hazel’s mother would swoon at this display of bravado, because nothing’s more appealing than using one’s biceps to force out worms from mushrooms. Hazel decided that she was the more stylish one. Hazel finished first, so she just waited around for her dad to finish punching a worm’s face in. “There’s stew inside, dear.” “Your apology is accepted,” Hazel mentioned as she walked inside with large strides. There on the stove Hazel saw the stewpot, various bits of mushrooms and meat floating about, still warm. Hazel took the ladle and poured herself a bowl, bringing it down on the table. She grabbed the chair, and sat down in it, looking out the windows to a forest of hidden creatures. Maybe if she focused hard enough, she can see the Old Gods who might still live there. She sipped her soup, a welcome taste to finish up work. Looking to her side, she saw her mother sitting on the porch, watching her father. She could see him through the window, doing various poses with the dead worm. Hazel’s mother was howling in laughter, and so was my father. Silly and gross as it is, she thought it was pretty funny to see him threaten to consume the foot long worm creature. “Oh- uh- sorry Mr. and Mrs. Kielsen! Ah no, the mushrooms, dammit!” Hazel heard a voice outside wail in despair. A muscular Alva with light gray skin, red flecks under his eyes, stumbled into the house, just barely fitting the doorway with his immense and buff frame, stains on his shirt and trousers. “Hey, Pace,” Hazel casually waved with two fingers. The Alva raised his hand in greeting. “How is the greenhouse project?” Hazel asked. It’s all he’s been talking about these past few cycles. “It’s going great, come on, we need to get supplies!” Pace grabbed Hazel’s hand, who left her almost-finished soup on the table. “Hey Pace, my soup!” Hazel yanked her hand back from his grip and she began sipping the last of her soup, staring judgmentally. He apologized, but Hazel didn't hear it over the sound of her judgmental slurping. “Okay, I’m done. What is it, Pace?” “I need fertilizer, the soil doesn’t have the right microbiome. I need nutrients to grow a culture so that the mushrooms can have the best yield. No more time, let’s goooo!” Pace yanked Hazel again and the youths exited the front door. “Going somewhere, dearies?” Hazel’s mother asked, “Some fertilizer stuff,” Hazel yelled out. Pace stopped in his tracks, realizing the obvious. “Uh, Mr. Kielsen, where’s the carriage? Hazel and I are going to the city.” Hazel’s dad, who apparently had long finished his extermination task, was sitting with her mother now. “Out in the stables, boy. What do you need? I went this morning, perhaps I got it?” “Ah, I need half a sack of Palver’s solution, a sample of luminescent kelp, a bag of luxwood crystals-” “Yeah, no, take the carriage. We’ll see you later, son.” Hazel smiled inwardly as her journey to the city was assured. However, her dad put a hand on Pace’s shoulders and he stopped. Crouching to Hazel’s height, her dad began his usual warning. “Be careful, Hazel. We don’t know if there are rogues on the path to the city. Y’know how much trade there is.” I smiled to comfort him. “I know dad, I’ll be careful.” He put on a strained smile and patted Hazel’s shoulder. “Fight on, Hazel. We’ll see ya for dinner.” She gave a thumbs up to my dad, and she waved goodbye to her mother who watched calmly. Pace grabbed Hazel’s hand again gently, and they went to the stables. Jalon was resting, the saddle already set. Ajax just forgot to take it off last time. “Come on, girl. Let’s go,” Hazel said to the molerat. She finally got up with what seemed like a yawn, Hazel, inept with animals, wasn’t sure. When Hazel finished getting Jalon up, she got on the molerat’s back and Pace sat behind Hazel. “Cool, let’s go now.” Pace gave a sound of agreement and the two set off to the city.