Some time ago Egdod had seen fit to imbue trees with the property of shedding branches from time to time, as when struck by a great wind, and in consequence they now lay heavy on the ground in certain places in the Forest. Those too would burn, as Thingor showed the cold souls of Town, who then made it their practice to venture into the Forest and carry away such branches as they had the strength to move. Others of Thingor’s inventions then were found useful for cutting the wood into smaller pieces, so that, by the time that winter began to relent, it was common for souls in Town to be seen carrying knives and axes.

Many though still suffered from cravings that the Land afforded no means of requiting. One day as the snow began to melt, Ward was flying over the Park when he made note of a soul standing before the little tower there, striking at its walls with an axe. He wheeled about and landed on the top of the tower and observed him for a time. Again and again this soul struck at the stone of the tower with the metal tools that Thingor had taught the Town how to fashion, but the stone of the tower was obdurate and nothing resulted save little showers of sparks. So fruitless were the soul’s efforts that Ward was uncertain as to his purpose in pursuing them with such ferocity. He flapped his wings once and dropped to the ground nearby. Sensing his presence, the soul turned to look on him, and left off beating the tower with the axe. “What is it you would achieve by this, Swat?” Ward asked. For he had recognized the soul as one who during the autumn had been a great destroyer of hives and eater of honey. Stung many times, he had learned to defend himself from the angry bees by swatting them dead, and had taught the practice to other hungry souls.

Swat answered: “Seeing how the axe bites into the wood of trees, I supposed it might have a like effect on the tower.”

“Egdod made the tower here as a thing of beauty for all souls to look on,” Ward pointed out. “It is not given to you to in any way alter its form.”

“It is full of honey,” said Swat.

“Honey that belongs to the bees—as Egdod said lo these many months ago before the feast of the apples.”

“Apples we have not eaten, or even seen, since that day,” Swat returned. “In the meantime our craving has grown powerful and we would now sate it by consuming the honey that is in this tower.”

“You may not,” said Ward, and held out his hand in the gesture that, since the beginning of the Land, had been his signal for other souls to desist and back away.