A/N: Hey, thanx 4 reviewin'! Keep it up! Do y'all really think it's that funny? Really? *sniffs* Gawrsh! And NO FLAMES yet!!!!!

I just was reading the last 2 chapters and…well, they suck. REALLY suck—in terms of length, at least. I was just in such a hurry to get the story back up that I wrote these two horribly short chapters. Forgive me pleeeeeeeeease! I might edit them later.

Anyhoo, I got a few reviews—OK, try 5—after I updated the story. I figure some people are reading this thing, so here goes: Chapter Four of Insanity. This has nothing really to do with Telemain and Numair—I just thought I should stick something about cider in somewhere.

~Miri

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After several mugs of mild, sweet tea in the Rider mess hall, Morwen was finally beginning to grasp the concept that she was in Tortall. (A/N: The spell check wants to change Tortall to "tort all"!) "Wow," she said, draining her seventh mug. "Trouble, I don't think we're in the Enchanted Forest any more."

The ragged gray cat didn't answer. He was milling about Daine, who was seated on the floor. Morwen's tough tom was purring for attention like all the other cats. Morwen frowned. Trouble was usually the least affectionate to strangers. "I said, Trouble, I don't think—"

Trouble turned his yellow eyes on his "owner". "Shaddap. I'm trying to have a conversation here."

"Conversation?" Morwen asked, taken aback. "But only I can talk to you…"

"Things've changed, Morwen. I dunno how this chick does it, but she can talk." Trouble turned back to Daine, who was murmuring something to Fiddlesticks. Fiddlesticks had a slightly silly look on his face.

Morwen looked at Numair, wondering if he was bothered by her communication with her cat. The large mage, used to the human-animal conversations, was listening to Telemain, who, still in his reverie, was musing about mathematical patterns.

"And the presence of the number three in many natural repetitions of the kingdom plantae indicate that—"

"Telemain," Morwen said tiredly. "Do me a favor and shut up."

Telemain turned, vaguely surprised, to his wife. "Yes, dear," he said meekly.

Morwen rubbed her eyes. "Um. Sir…"

"Numair," said Numair (A/N: Now the spell check wants to change Numair to Numeric…tee hee…).

"Yes…Numair. Could I have something else to drink?"

"Sure." Numair rose from the table. "They have tea, water, mead, ale, cider…"

"Cider would be excellent," Morwen replied. Numair strode over to the serving tables, picked up a cup, and handed it to Morwen.

"Hm," she said, swilling the cider in the cup. Numair watched with interest. Morwen sniffed the liquid, then raised the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. At once she sprayed it across the table, showering Daine with cider. "Filth!" she screeched.

Every head in the mess hall turned to look. Telemain cleared his throat. "Morwen, dear…"

"You people call this CIDER?" Morwen ranted. "Bah! It's DISGUSTING! This, my friends, is GARBAGE!"

A few snickers resounded around the room. Daine wiped cider from her face. "Well…we like it," she ventured tentatively.

"Bah!" Morwen said again. She peered into the cup. "Color; should be a nice rich orange-red. This is the color of MUD." She reached into her cup and ran cider through her fingers. "Consistency. Should be slightly thick yet not enough to stick in the throat—this is watery! Plus a tacky blend of bad seasonings, bad apples, and—and—" Morwen was too angry to speak. Instead, she marched up to the trestle table of beverages and banged the cider down in front of the serving lady. "Where is this ATROCIOUS stuff made?"

"In the royal cider press, milady. Back of the kitchens, near the winery," said the frightened servant.

"Royal, my ***!" Morwen whirled about and glared at Numair. "Show me the way to the cider press!"

**********

Ralph the cider brewer had had a long day. First the press broke. Then he ran out of cinnamon. Although cinnamon was not a crucial ingredient in cider, he still needed it. He'd had to wait in line for an hour at the kitchens for it. Then half a bushel of apples had dropped and exploded in the yard.

Ralph sighed and poured another bushel of apples into the press. Five more hours before he could go home to his wife and obnoxious children.

He looked up and did a double take. A small auburn-haired woman was plowing straight for him, a demonic look in her eyes. She was trailing a very tall man, a pretty girl, nine cats, and a short, bewildered-looking man.

"Afternoon," Ralph greeted them. "What can I do for ye?"

Morwen looked up at him. "Do you make the cider here?"

He nodded. "Aye, I do. Make the cider for the whole palace."

Morwen's eyes narrowed. She shoved poor Ralph so hard he fell over. "Move it, bub!"

Ralph had had enough for the day. He scrambled up and ran out of the palace grounds to Corus.

Daine shot a glance at Numair and followed Morwen into the cider house. Telemain didn't tell me his wife's obsessed with cider, she thought.

In the cider house, Morwen was quickly settling into business stopping the press, getting fresh jugs, and pouring apple juice out the window. She was muttering astonishing words to herself. "Of all the ****ing incompetent ******** I have met this ****ing **** ****** takes the ****ing cake!"

"Sounds like Alanna," Numair whispered. Daine nodded. The Lioness could be pretty shocking sometimes.

"See all this?" Morwen shoved a jug in front of them. "Crap!" She chucked it aside and moved to the bushel basket of apples waiting. She began sorting through them, tossing the ones she didn't like out the window. "Crap—crap—crap—crap—ah!" She picked up an apple and held it to the light. "Yes, this will do." She placed it into the funnel of the press and began sorting again.

After fifteen minutes, Morwen had all the apples she needed for one jug of cider. "They need to be crisp," she explained as she started the press. "Nicely symmetrical, sweet, and preferably of the Mackintosh variety." The press whirred into action, and a small stream of apple juice trickled into the waiting jug.

"Good…good…" Morwen stood with her hands behind her back, feet splayed, like a general surveying her troops. "Now…the spices…" she muttered, picking up the jug and hurrying it over to the spice rack.

Is she always like this? Daine asked Jasmine silently.

Try living with her, the orange cat replied. She's a good sort, though—just a bit of a fanatic when it comes to cider.

Morwen placed the jug gently on the windowsill. "Now," she announced, "we wait."

**********

That night in Numair's study, Morwen wrote the cider recipe on a large roll of parchment and handed it to Daine. "It's a secret, so I don't normally give it out, but your country is so cider-impoverished I took pity on it."

"Um…sure," Daine said, puzzling over the parchment.

"Telemain will show you your quarters," Numair said, pushing Telemain towards the door. The magician got the hint and took his wife's arm. They exited, trailing cats who were saying good night to Daine.

"I'm glad you're not a cider fanatic," Numair said, collapsing into a chair. "I don't think I could keep up with you."

**********

The next day, Morwen was bright and happy at the mess hall. "I always love it when my cider is finished!" she announced over breakfast.

Daine, bleary-eyed, raised her eyebrow. She had had about an hour of sleep the night before. An injured gull had come in the middle of the night and demanded to be healed with loud squawks, then stayed and gossiped for about three hours. She glanced at Numair. He looked as bad as she felt—the gull had woken him up too.

"Hurry up," Morwen said, looking anxiously around the mess hall. "I want to see how it turned out." The second the last crumb was eaten by Numair she was up like a shot, dragging Telemain out of the hall, followed by sleepy cats. Numair and Daine stumbled after her, each trying to use the other as a support.

**********

In the cider house, Morwen breathed deeply. "Ah—the Moment of Truth." She carefully poured equal amounts of orange-red liquid into the four cups laid out in front of her. Each person in the cider house took one and, after a moment of silence, threw back the cup and drank.

"WOW!" Daine gasped as taste exploded in her mouth. "It's delicious!"

"Superb!" Numair exclaimed. "Absolutely marvelous! Worth the wait!" He felt more awake already. Looking at Daine, he could see she did too.

Telemain and Morwen shot each other glances. "It's just Morwen's cider," said Telemain nonchalantly.

**********

And so it came to pass that Morwen of the Enchanted Forest brought the much- needed quality cider to the nation of Tortall. Morwen soon brought Ralph back to his job and instructed him in the ways of the FORCE—Fruity Orange- Red Color Exposed. (A/N: I know it's a crappy acronym but it'll have to do.)

Soon Morwen's profile was stamped on the bottom of every cider barrel in the nation, and the recipe she wrote out for Daine became a family heirloom of Ralph's. There was actually a very interesting episode involving Ralph's great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter, the recipe, a Number Two pencil, and a cell phone…but that's another story.

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Hehe! R&R plz. Chapter 5 comin' soon!