"Fresh cider and pie sounds a fair exchange for the labor," Caspian laughs. "I always liked the apple-picking, too, but I liked even more the work to clear the orchard and ready it in the spring. The apple tree dryads had blossoms in their hair, and..."

He trails off, his glance caught by a flash of motion among the trees ahead. Something paces through the orchard, but in the dappled shadows he can't tell if it's gold or brown.