There were claps on backs and smiles on faces as the village of Merrybrook celebrated the harvest. The eyes of many of the farmers were already glassy when the third cask of Harvest ale was rolled into the Gentle Night Inn. The Harvest ale was breded once a year by the Gentle Night's proprietor Nial Greenfurrow. He selected all of the grains himself and ensured that the right amounts were used to fortify each cask to proper harvest levels. The day after the festival many would be cursing Nial and his Harvest ale, but few would remember that pain come the next harvest.
Nial looked out from his bar at his crowded eating room. He always enjoyed watching the young ones celebrate their first harvest the most. It was the way at which they attacked the Harvest ale, the postures they held, seeking to show the old timers that those few nights with stolen ale had prepared them to drink at the table. It wouldn't be long until most of those boastful faces were either sleeping on the tables or paying a visit to the bushed behind the Inn.
"Respect" Nial said alout.
"What's that?" Wylam asked as he poured another mug of all.
"Respect!" Nial shouted. "You've got to respect the Harvest!"
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