We buried them beneath the orchard, not once considering that their souls would fill the trees and turn the fruits as bitter as their last moments. Every year after the fruits became more and more bitter til not even the maggots that fed on the meat below ate them.
We had to seal the whole orchard off, call it a graveyard and try to plant from fresh seeds elsewhere. Damned souls followed us at every turn to ruin our fruit and starve us into a new area. We became purely nomadic after a while, desperately trying to outrun the curse we created.
It's been a few generations since then - a few of the souls have seen their murderers die and given up, a few lost interest and turned back leaving the worst of the worst with us. The ones who can't settle their hatred, can't move on and can't stand to see us alive.
We see their faces in the trunks of every tree we pass and pray the roots hold them down a little longer.
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