"Father, look," the girl said, holding up a tiny red flower towards her father. The man picked the flower from her fingers, like it was as fragile as the flowers within Aldland. The girl's face was the painting of joy as she giggled wildly, before her younger sister rushed up beside her, panting for air, before coughing, a cough that was not like the cough of a little girl, but of an older fellow who had smoke from a pipe since the womb.

"Oh my, my dear," the man dropped to a knee, patting the girl's back. "Did you drink your water?"

"Yes!" the girl said, before shaking her head to deny her words. She smiled innocently, before her father ruffled her hair, and led the twins to a nearby well to cool their fathers and to quench their thirst. Their little brother stormed onto the scene from their mother, who led the children away to play further away.

The Iyrman turned, feeling the wind shift slightly as his brother approached him. "You have come?"

"I have come," the brother replied.

"How is sister?"

"Well."

"The child?"

"Healthy."

The Iyrman nodded his head slowly, a small smile appearing on his face. "The second child is not easier."

"No," the brother confirmed, stepping beside the Iyrman, staring out to watch as the twins and their little brother ran across the field. "Tonagek plays well with his sisters."

"His sisters play well with him," Shogek corrected.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"It will be fine, Dogek."

"It does not feel easier."

"It will not be." Shogek reached over to pat his younger brother's back. "Sister will assist you. She will care for them in the ways you cannot, and you will care for them in ways she cannot."

"In what ways can she not care for them?"

"There are times she will require your assistance. Look at me, Dogek. My daughters, they can act as they please in front of me, but there are times when their mother comes to me. She comes to me because there are ways she cannot care for them, it wounds her heart, in the ways that I cannot care for my daughters, for it wounds my heart."

"You are better with others, brother. I am not."

"You are like grandfather, but..." Shogek thought carefully of his next words, before sighing. He was no good at speaking so thoughtfully with his brother. "You are not grandfather. You place your duty first, but you are still my brother. I do not know if grandfather worried when he stepped out to complete his duties, I do not believe he did, but you? You worry. You, who live within my shadows, and yet complete the duties you must without complaint. You are not grandfather. You are not me. You are Dogek.”

Dogek remained silent, listening to his elder brother’s words.

“A rigid blade will break. A blade which flexes much, cannot draw blood. A blade which is rigid and flexible will spill enough blood, from the Iyr to the Confederacy."

"Not beyond?" Dogek joked.

"Beyond is too far," Shogek replied, a wide smile encroaching across his face. "There will come a time when their father cannot deny them, and their mother cannot. It is those times we may come to you, Dogek. You must succeed where we fail."

"If you cannot, and if sister cannot, I cannot."

"No," Shogek said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You can." He squeezed Dogek's shoulder gently. Shogek pulled his hand away, lifting up the flower within his hand. He brought it up to Dogek's face. "Do you see?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"I see."

"Take it."

"It was given to you."

"And I give it to you."

Dogek reached over and plucked the flower from his brother's hand. He could feel how thin the stem was, so easily cowed by his fingers. The petals shimmied in the soft breeze. The flower would die before the year passed.

“Father!” the girl rushed up towards her father, with her sister rushing after her, their brother not far behind. The girl held up another flower, with blue petals, which she handed to her father.

“Will you give uncle the flowers?”

“No,” the girl said, pouting. “It is your flowers, father.”

Shogek inhaled deeply, opening his palm for the girl to gently place down the flower into his hand. Shogek placed a hand on the girl’s head, before she rushed off. Her younger sister held up another flower, with yellow petals.

“Who is this flower for?”

The girl glanced towards her uncle. She could feel the expectations of her father. “Uncle.”

“Do you see?” Shogek asked, his eyes brimming with pride.

“I see,” Dogek replied, slowly bowing his head. He dropped to a knee and held out his hand. The girl hesitated for a moment, before placing the flower into his hand. She hid her hands behind her back, her toes pointing inward as she pouted slightly. Dogek placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair gently. “Thank you, Fonagek.”

The girl smiled slightly, before she rushed after her elder sister, while Tonagek stood there between his father and uncle. He wore a small crown made of interlocking flowers, with petals of red, blue, and yellow.

“Who is this handsome young man?” Shogek joked.

“Tonagek, daddy,” the boy said, before his father ruffled his hair, fixing his crown, before the boy darted away.

“Soon he will call me father.”

“He will be old enough then.”

“Should he not stay small forever, my Tonagek?”

“The Iyr raised its children well.”

Shogek smiled, watching over his children. “Yes.”

Donagek felt the heat of the season against his skin, feeling the delicate flowers within his hands. A single blue petal fell within his hand, his eyes falling across the flower within his brother’s hand, which had lost a single petal.

“The wind is strong today,” Shogek said.

“It is strong, because it is the wind of the Iyr,” Dogek replied.

“Yes.”

Donagek recalled his brother’s voice. His answer had held an unspoken joke within them. He felt the chill of the season against his skin, only broken by the gentle light of the candle illuminating his skin. The candle’s flame burnt weakly, by design, the light lasting days once lit. He stared into the red petals set within the wax.

He recalled the first time he had lit the candle. He had created the candle upon his third child’s birth, and had kept it unlit until that day. It was a day like any other. A day when people laughed. A day when people ate. A day when people died.

Death was quite the affair for the Iyrmen. There were many who died to various vicious creatures across the land, but that was not the only way an Iyrman passed. Iyrmen were people, just like any other. One moment, an Iyrman could be tending to the fields, and another, they would fall. Another Iyrman could have fought a sea drake, with no knowledge her husband had died, before falling herself.

It was raining that day.

Dogek had lit the candle the first time after their funeral. He had remained silent throughout, his body frozen from the chill. He had no words to say to his nieces and nephew who had lost their mother and father so rapidly. He had no words to give to their children, who had no idea they would be unable to see or speak to their grandmother or grandfather any longer.

“It does not feel easier.” Dogek whispered, staring at the thin strand of smoke above the flame. Lightning fell and the thunder rumbled. Silence followed for a long while. He reached up to the flame and quenched it between his fingers, allowing the darkness to consume him.

Tonagek cut through the rain with his blade. He could feel the tingle of magic of his blade, vaguely aware of the water which bounced off his blade. He continued to cut at the rain before he sighed, standing in the darkness as the rain engulfed him.

“Have you brought drinks?” Tonagek asked.

“If I did not bring drinks, would I still be your friend?” Mosen replied, stepping out from the darkness, holding out a gourd.

“How long were you watching?” Tonagek asked, taking the gourd.

“You caught me soon after I arrived.”

“Why did you not call out?”

“I know better than to interrupt you when you are thinking.”

Tonagek undid the cork and sipped the wine. He could taste the sweetness, wincing slightly, having not expected for Mosen to bring something so sweet. “Which wine are you drinking.”

“The same.”

“Sweet?”

“It is to balance your bitterness.” Mosen winced as he sipped the sweet wine. “I cannot believe my mother would drink this.”

Tonagek thought of Mosen’s mother, who had always allowed them to cause trouble when they were younger. “She has good taste.”

“Mother knew how to kill, but good drinks? It was not her speciality.”

“You can only dare to say so now that she is dead.”

“I am truly wise.”

The pair fell silent for a long time as they stood in the rain.

“Did Danagek sleep well?”

“He called for you, but sister soothed him to sleep.”

“What of Chisen?”

“I made sure she was asleep before I crept away.”

They continued to drink and stand in silence.

“I am sorry,” Mosen finally said, the lightning falling and thunder rumbling.

Tonagek remained silent for a long while. He sipped the sweet alcohol. “I know.”

“I am glad it is raining,” Mosen admitted, feeling the wetness across his face.

“Yes.”