Carefully wrapped in a (admitedely really pretty) hand-made vine basket, there was a big, bright orange pumpkin. Meryl didn’t like pumpkins that much (nor were they built in need of real food, for that matter), but it would be such a jerk move to not aknowledge the gesture.

It sure was a pretty, yummy-looking pumpkin after all. And, considering these vegetables only grow in the deepest parts of the Grimmore Forest, it was nothing but impressive one to take it by themself. Those lands were infested of wolves.

Graces, Meryl hated wolves.

Anexed to the basket was a little note, written in fancy, orange caligraphy (presumably for the novelty of it).

It read:

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