The sun sank low, casting a faint golden hue over the beetroot field. Long rows of deep purple beets spread out across the land. Alan knelt in the soil, yanking another beet free. He wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve, then stood to stretch his stiff back. He looked across the field and sighed. Many more remained to be gathered. "This will take forever," he grumbled under his breath, his voice soft against the whisper of the leaves. As he bent to carry on, a shout pierced the quiet.
"Alan!"
He turned. Theo came rushing toward him, hair a wild tangle bouncing with each stride, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder—too big for a boy his size. "Theo? Are you well?" Alan asked as Theo halted before him, panting, dust rising from his battered shoes. "I must to the quarry," Theo said, tugging at his bag's strap. "I've no minerals left, and the work's stopped without them."
Alan frowned, glancing toward the distant mountain. The quarry lay near enough, yet it was no safe haven for idle wandering. "You mean to go alone?" he asked. Theo nodded, eager. "I'll manage! I only need a little. I'll not linger." Alan wavered. He knew Theo's stubbornness when it came to his craft.
"Very well," Alan said at last, his tone hard. "But heed me—stay near the quarry's rim. No climbing, no roaming, and keep well away from the mountain's depths. Clear?"
Theo grinned wide. "Clear!"
Before Alan could speak again, Theo whirled and bolted off, the bag jolting against his back. Once set on a path, that boy was beyond reining in. Alan shook his head, watching him fade down the trail, hoping he'd mind the words this time. Turning back, he sank to his knees and took up his task once more.