Rickety and dilapidated the ancient wooden ladder stood against the decrepit tree, Hvitserk puffed out his chest and took a step toward the ladder. Why did all of the good apples have to be at the top of the damn tree? One foot on the bottom, he glanced down at his worn blue converse expecting the wooden contraption to give way the second he put his weight onto it.
"Hvits." Your voice calls his attention. Hands on your hips, you glare at him. "What do you think you're doing? Get off of that, you'll kill yourself."
"But the pie, I can't make it with worm ridden apples." He pouts, clutching the ladder, one foot still on and one off. Nobody took their pies as seriously as Hvitserk. He spent hours perfecting the perfect award winning apple pie. During fair season he would sit in the kitchen trying to make each one better than the last.
"No pie is worth ending up in a body cast."
A body cast is exactly where Hvitserk is going to end up, if he doesn't come off that ladder. The worn gray wood creaks and you wince as it foreshadows a sudden demise, whether it is one for itself or Hvitserk is unclear.
"I know what I am doing." Hvitserk insists moving to avoid getting his hair caught in a crinkled branch. "Sigurd and I climbed these trees all the time, when we were kids."
Back when they were considerably smaller no doubt.
"Hvits, I don't want to see you hurt. We came to have a nice afternoon out, going to the emergency room is not what I'd call a nice afternoon." You continued to watch in the same manner you would a train wreck about to happen.
Stretching toward the higher branches, Hvitserk grunts, his tongue stuck between his teeth in sheer concentration, nimble fingers extend and pluck a prize of an apple. A triumphant puff of breath and Hvitserk goes for another.
Skillfully he manages six or seven more before returning to the ground. Both feet safe on the earth beside you, he proudly shows you the apples in his basket.
"See, nothing to worry about." He beams, kissing your cheek.
"You got lucky that time." You pout and take the basket from him.
"And when my pies are winning all of the awards, who is going to be the lucky one then?" He wiggles his brows at you, green eyes full of mischief.
"The gym where I leave all of my money, because you've made my ass three sizes bigger with pies?"
"Please," Hvitserk snickered, nudging you with his hip. "Your ass is perfect and besides, who needs a gym when you have me? You know all of that baking and winning makes me horny."
Onward to the next tree, Hvitserk marches with a smile on his face, leaving you to trail behind. Pleased with his comments, he expertly scurries up the next ladder. What a cheeky little brat.
