'October was in the chair, so it was chilly that evening, and the leaves were red and orange and tumbled from the trees that circled the grove. The twelve of them sat round a campfire roasting huge sausages on sticks, which spat and crackled as the fat dripped onto the burning appplewood, and drinking fresh apple cider, tangy and tart in their mouths. April took a dainty bite from her sausage, which burst open as she bit it, spilling hot juice down her chin. "Beshrew and suck odure on it," she said.'