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“Worse than the hunger, though, was the memory. I'd been here before. Elan brought me as a treat one day in early fall. I'd spent the six weeks previous up to my elbows in sticky, hot, miserable vats of huckleberries and apples, chokecherries and raspberries and peaches brought inn from the lake district by flying courier. The Wild King had ice caves under his palace, vast, magically controlled freezers that could have housed the fruit all winter with much less trouble, but he liked to have most of it processed. Human skill. Human labor, packing jam into blown-glass jars and sealing them with wax. Any othersider could keep fruit fresh. Only a human could see a pink and green apple and create a jar of golden jelly.” — Reena McCarty

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Worse than the hunger, though, was the memory. I'd been here before. Elan brought me as a treat one day in early fall. I'd spent the six weeks previous up to my elbows in sticky, hot, miserable vats of huckleberries and apples, chokecherries and raspberries and peaches brought inn from the lake district by flying courier. The Wild King had ice caves under his palace, vast, magically controlled freezers that could have housed the fruit all winter with much less trouble, but he liked to have most of it processed. Human skill. Human labor, packing jam into blown-glass jars and sealing them with wax. Any othersider could keep fruit fresh. Only a human could see a pink and green apple and create a jar of golden jelly.
— Reena McCarty