The Taming of the Shrew

Addam fancied himself a person at home with the idea of adventure, with thrills and shock and change. Just because he wanted to be a stay-at-home farmer dad didn't meant that he was, demonstrably. Just because he didn't like the moral and ethical, philosophical implications of war didn't mean that he didn't know how to fight one.

Just because he was a jolly, gregarious person didn't mean he was completely unfamiliar with grit 'n' strang.

So Addam chanced to turn over a rock one day, not desiring in any particular modality to wait on Minoth's expert judgement, and thinking that he might even learn a thing or two in the process.

Stuff about how wetas buried, and upas bounced, and hoppers hopped upon berries. Maybe a conglomeration of ants forging a hill. Maybe even a slithering centipede!

Addam told the ghost stories to Haze because he thought it was funny, really, and if she ever got altogether too frightened - shrieking for Lora to hide her face instead of shrieking with laughter - then he would apologize and come down from his tirade, but he'd always start back up again, a few days on, because the temptation, for a simple man like him, was just too great.

Addam had never been heard jumping and yelping himself. Not until today, that is.

Of course, everyone came running at the sound, because it was so unusual, and also just so very loud. Lora was at the head of the pack, then Haze, then Milton, and then finally Minoth.

He didn't look concerned. Neither did he look immediately amused. Instead, he looked puzzled. Maybe a little bit intrigued.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

Lora was breathless; she didn't know yet that it was funny. Addam pointed shyly at the rock, cast aside and overturned once more.

"There was a slug on the underside, is all. It was awfully close to my hand, once I realized."

Minoth's furrowing became opportunity: he took the prince aside for a private lesson.