Grouse Thicket if he said, 'help me kill the president'

Good apples or bad apples, he didn't really care what sort of fruit they'd find since he was mostly just trying to get away from the stupidity of the packlands and spend time with the pretty girl. The smell was a bit strong though and as much as he wanted to keep a straight face, Screech struggled somewhat. He thought she was going to apologize again (and might've said something if she had) when an apple came rolling at him from across the grass.

He stooped to inspect it, sniffing and rolling it around with little boops of his nose. He watched Ceara for a few seconds to make sure he wasn't screwing up, and then snapped at the apple. It was softer than he expected it to be; his teeth scored it with ease, and the pulpy fruit tasted sickly sour. It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever munched on — so he went in search of more, and soon had eaten a variety of the tiny tough apples as well as half-bruised larger ones, finding that he cared less and less about their quality the more he ate them.