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The Purging of the Great Thorns

The sun was not merely a ball of burning gas to the folk of the Sandleford Warren; it was Frith, the Great Eye, the golden source of all life and the witness to every twitch of a whisker. But on this day, the air felt heavy, tasting of ozone and the cold, sharp scent of worked iron. Fiver, the small, twitching seer of the rabbits, sat atop the Honeycomb, his ears flat against his back. "It’s coming, Hazel", he whispered, his voice trembling like a leaf in a gale. "A great white light. Not the light of Frith that warms the fur, but a light that eats the world. Man has grown too clever. He has stolen the fire from the center of the earth and pointed it at the sky". Hazel looked toward the horizon. He couldn’t see the, "Great Thorns"—the long, silver cylinders Man had hidden in the ground—but he felt the vibration in his paws. The world of men was screaming. They had built machines that could turn the grass to ash and the rivers to steam. They were ready ...
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Come to My House and We Will Have Cider

Wayne was all like, "Come to my house and we will have cider", and, "We are young and teenagers and need to try it for the first time".
It was a crisp autumn evening and the leaves were rustling in the cool breeze as we walked up the path to Wayne's house. He greeted us at the door with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Hurry up and get inside, I've got a surprise for you," he said, ushering us into the warm glow of the living room.




We followed him into the kitchen, the scent of apples and cinnamon wafting through the air. Wayne reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of cider, the usual kind of three litre plastic bottle. "I figured it was time for us to try the real deal," he said, pouring two glasses and handing one to me. "We're not kids anymore, it's time to taste the forbidden fruit."
We took the glasses hesitantly, the cool liquid sloshing against the sides. Wayne clinked his glass against ours and took a deep swig, his eyes widening in surprise. "Whoa, this is strong!" he exclaimed, coughing slightly. We followed suit, the cider teasing our throats as it slid down.
It was an intense flavour, sweet and sour and earthy all at once. We sipped slowly, savouring the taste and the feeling of being rebels, defying the rules and expectations of being "good kids". Wayne and I talked and laughed late into the night, the cider warming us from the inside out. Wayne exclaimed to us all, "Roonyyyyy!!", referring to Wayne Rooney of M.U.F.C. in a big celebration of our new player in our favourite team.
Looking back, I realise that moment was a turning point in our friendship. It marked the beginning of a new era, one of exploration and pushing boundaries. That autumn evening sipping cider at Wayne's house was the start of a wild and unpredictable ride through the ups and downs of teenage life. Sadly, though Wayne went further astray, trust diminished, and we may have been naive to think that the night of cider was so monumental at the time, that small act of rebellion would stay etched in my memory forever as a defining moment of youth. 

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