The Snakeapple (Lepidomalus quadrifolia)
The Heartbearers of the interior woodlands grow a great many fruits and raise a great number of beasts which are not encountered outside of their sylvan demesne, many of which are splendid to behold, let alone to taste, and quite unlike the pests and weeds off which my poor urbanite kin have been reduced to subsistence upon. Of these, it is perhaps the snakeapple which sets itself apart as most resplendent.
The fruit of it, which comes into its fullness late into the spring, is preceded by an early-blooming flower, which rises from the earth not long after the melting of the last snows. The fruits sit low to the ground on slender stalks, and can become very large and heavy, nearly as tall as a man and several times the weight. Each is covered in a find, soft coat of glittering scales, from deep auburn to the most vivid gold. Some are red, or colored like polished copper or brass. Others are red as blood, or pure white. I have even heard tell of apples painted in sunset hues, or decked in pink or calico, or every color at once! Their beauty is a transient thing, their pretty scales sloughing off as they age, exposing the pallid skin beneath.
The flesh is fibrous and sweet, with a sharp, acid tang. It can be dried into a floss which keeps well in dry storage and imparts great flavor to that with which it is mixed, and is of itself endlessly pleasant to chew. At the center of each fruit is a stone, somewhat smaller than a man’s head, which can be planted or cracked as one sees fit, for it too has quite worthwhile flesh at its core.
The ripened fruit has to it a hardness which is distinctive. One should not partake of it before such texture is achieved, at risk of being brought low with great pains in the gut, weakness and spasming. Apart from that, the flavor is in this stage much inferior besides.
The plant from which these treasures spring is a thing of merit, if somewhat less assuming. Its leafing stalks form tall, four-petaled umbrellas, which make a good canopy for the seasons during which they stand, but leave an open clearing as the year rolls on, each invariably stricken down by rots and ravaging insects.
The umbrellas, while seemingly solitary, are all connected underground by a network of thick, strong roots, from which their fruits and flowers also spring. Whole, vast stands of them may be connected in this way. Such large and old colonies bear the fattest and most flavorful apples, but, should they die, will die entirely, every last stalk.
Attempts have been made to grow snakeapples in the town so that my native colonies may partake of their delights, but some challenges have arisen. The plants will not grow anywhere, they want it low and wet and will not tolerate less. Their charming canopies likewise are burned by the sun, and will wither before achieving their full majesty without proper coverage. Furthermore, what plants have established have not born fruit, even years on. I have heard it from my guides that it will take upwards of five years for a new plant to send up fruit - a lifetime or longer! So it must be that the colonies which grow in such lush abundance in the inner woodlands are a truly ancient project. It is awesome to consider, and yet at once, I do not know if I have the heart to relay this information to those hopeful wretches who so await my word.
A young callow carrying a particularly pretty apple back to her colony, being only somewhat distracted by a nice brush-ended worm she's found along the way.
