Adventures in Interning: Harvesting

It was time for Kaytlyn to take part in her first harvest ceremony. This ritual was a sacred rite of passage for any initiate to the Circle of Harvest Druids. After taking part in their first ceremony, the acolytes would be one step closer to finishing their training. Kaytlyn had woken up extra early to ensure she was at her assigned field in time. Her mentor, the purple-eyed lioness Archdruid Violet, was already there, just watching the wheat sway in the breeze. In one hand, she held a crop scythe with a sickle in the other.

 

“Kaytlyn, have I ever told you why the weapon of the Archdruin is a bladed staff and not a scythe,” Violet asked as she handed Kaytlyn the sickle.

 

“Is it because scythes are dumb unwieldy weapons,” the young fennec tried her answer as she did a few practice swings with the sickle. It was a smaller harvest instrument but still a little heavy for her.

 

“Not quite. I’ll explain after we cut the wheat,” the lioness smiled as she kneeled at the edge of the wheat. Kaytlyn followed suit and mirrored the Archdruid as she placed her hands into the dirt. Together, they focused their earth magic on the field, thanking the crops for their gifts and ensuring the field stays nourished for the next planting. “Now remember from this point out no more magic till the harvest is complete.”

 

It was hard, exhausting work harvesting wheat without magic. Kaytlyn was trying her best to keep up, but the small fox found herself needing to catch up. Despite the apparent weight of her scythe, Archdruid Violet nimbly carved her way through the wheat field. More druids joined with their initiates, and by midday, the field was entirely cut and ready to be tied into sheaves. Plant tender druids brought in a picnic lunch for everyone to enjoy till it was time to begin the next part of the harvesting.

 

“Are you going to tell me why the scythe isn’t your weapon now,” Kaytlyn eagerly inquired between bites of food. The fennec sat across from her mentor on the ground with her sickle at her feet.

 

“It’s because we aren’t reapers,” Archduid Violet told her young acolyte before sipping apple cider. “We wear red to remind us to mourn those souls we were forced to harvest before their time. It’s not a badge of honor or something we strive to achieve. Our red clothes are so people can see the blood that is on our hands and we make our acolytes wear shame as well so they know the weight of harvesting a soul. When your training is done, you will switch to yellow and orange. My deepest wish is that I never have to see you in red again after that day.”

 

“But then why a weapon at all if Harvest Druids don’t like killing people,” the young fennec asked, slightly confused.

 

“The staff is to guide and protect while the blade is there in case the need for it becomes unavoidable,” the lioness explained mournfully. “Just like plants, souls need to be nurtured and should never be harvested before their time, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Now let’s finish eating so we can tie up all the wheat.”

 

While tying up the wheat in sheaves, Kaytlyn had a lot to think about. Archdruid Violet’s words echoed in her ears. The young fennec vowed that she would never need to wear the red once she was no longer an initiate. That way, when she got an apprentice of her own, they wouldn’t have to wear her shame.