CaneCain arches his apple-wedge eyebrows sitting atop his hard toffee eyes and listens to Smecker's Smoker's nth complaint. He purses his apple lips and shrugs his apple core frame. His apple blossom hair rustles from his movements, which comes with the rhythmic clang of tin metal buckets (and rather less of the sloshing about of apples, and more clanging and rolling thereof).

"I'd offer to carry you, but then I think you'd yell at me, so I think I won't. For both our sake."

He pauses, peering up the slope. "Not to mention I'd get caramel all over you. Not all that fun in this context."