The people of Iceland were beautiful and honest. The night before, Salem hooked up with a woman he’d met at the hotel bar. If River hadn’t taken off down the street, he’d probably still be with her. It was early in the morning, chilly, and River still hadn’t returned. There was always danger in taking him somewhere unfamiliar. When River ran off at home, there were only so many places he’d go.

As a teenager, Salem would sometimes pull his youngest siblings in a trailer behind the tractor when he tilled the soil. When the younger boys got older, he’d teach them to do the tilling.

Monty was born in December, less than two months after Salem turned eleven. The children were home with Samantha, who was never much of a caretaker. At just thirteen years old, Delilah took on a motherly role, knowing the children would be neglected otherwise. She never wanted her own kids, Delilah. Frigg, who knew of her childhood traumas, rarely left her in charge of the boys.

“Sit still,” said Delilah to Kezia, whose hair needed to be brushed. “I need to put your hair up before you go to bed.” She was impatient and slightly anxious - but it was hard to be a Zoan and grow up without anxiety. Trying to braid Hannah’s hair was a task in itself. Delilah barked orders at the other kids at the same time. “Jacob, get your pyjamas on. Mary, brush your teeth. Mosiah, give the toy back to your sister.”

The farm was always chaotic growing up. It was filled constantly with the sounds of children fighting and adults shouting. Even after sundown, when the children were in bed, there was still noise.

A person couldn’t heal in the same environment that hurt them. The biggest eye-opener of adulthood was realizing you’d grown up to be your father: especially if your father was a man like Orion. Salem was nineteen or twenty when he began attending monthly therapy sessions to work through childhood traumas - but these things took time, and old habits were hard to break. After moving out on his own Salem dated a man named Robin, and he was just like his father.

This early in the morning, the streets were barren. Later that day, they’d promised to meet with Delilah for dinner.

When River ran off, he never went far. About ten minutes down the street, he lay in the lobby of an apartment, huddled underneath an oversized rain jacket. He didn’t sleep much these days. The lobby was small, and tiled, and dirty - hardly a good place for a sleep. It was a bit shocking that River had been here all night without being kicked out. On the floor, an empty bottle was tucked under his arm.

“Hey!”

Fortunately, the lobby door was unlocked. River was hot to the touch and sweaty, even though it was cold. “River, get up. We need to go.”

It must have been assumed by tenants and passersby that he was a homeless man. He certainly looked like one. It was hard to talk sense into River when he was in a Mood. It was hard to change his mind once he had it made up. Having him around was relieving and intimidating, but it was much safer than having him live alone. River hated this, he’d said: being babied, making people worry all the time. The thing was that people only worried when they cared. River had never believed that anybody cared.

“Look, I learned a new magic trick! It only took me two hours to figure it out!”

Salem was always interested in magic. His mother once said he was giving in to the ways of the devil, and that he one day would realize the consequences of his actions. It had begun as simple magic tricks in childhood, and spiralled into wand work and spell work in adulthood. Still, it was easy to impress people with magic, especially children. Delilah’s stepsons were ten and seven years old. When Salem wanted to impress them, he’d simply do a magic trick or two.

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River grumbled, rolling slowly into the fetal position. “I hate myself. I wish I was worth something.”

The first time River mentioned wanting to kill himself, he was twelve years old and had been depressed most of his life. The first time he actually attempted to kill himself, he was fifteen. When Salem moved out, he worried about how River would cope. He shuffled slowly at Salem’s side, hands shoved into his pockets, quiet. River was an open book, and he hated this.

Quit crying, said Orion, each time one of his sons was upset growing up, Nobody likes a crybaby. Boys don’t cry.

“You are, River.” It was hard to find weed in Iceland. Salem had managed to bum some off another tourist, though it wasn’t a lot. Back home, he could pick the stuff up almost anywhere. “Lots of people love you, you know.”

The truth was that most people pitied River. He was pitied for being sad, or unemployed, or emotionally unwell. Considering the circumstances, River did his best. This was nothing worth pitying.

He scoffed. “Stop feeling bad for me, asshole!” Wiping his face with a ratty, wet sweater sleeve, River frowned. “I didn’t mean that. I’m in a bad mood.” He was pale and shaky, pulling his yellow raincoat along the ground by its sleeve. A small group of locals passed by, gossiping about parties and dating. It had taken almost five years to learn enough Icelandic to survive in the country. If Salem had had more free time, it probably would have been much faster.

“Do you want a hug, River?”

Shortly, Frigg was coming to pick up the boys from the hotel. It was hard to tell whether she was alright with this. Frigg was a stoic woman, but she was honest. If you got on her bad side, she’d be more than happy to tell you.

River looked exhausted. He stopped on the sidewalk, rubbing his eyes. “Kind of.”

Kioni had told Salem, once, that she was never the first one to pull away from a hug. She said sometimes, someone else needed a hug more than she did, so she was always careful to let them hug her as long as they needed. Some people have nobody else, she said, so I like to make sure they have me. River wasn’t much of a hugger. When one was offered to him, he seemed to melt into you.

“How long were you out here?”

When they arrived back at the room, River flopped lazily onto the bed, sinking into it. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days: dark bags underneath his eyes, green hair tousled and badly in need of washing. From an outside perspective, it was hard to understand depression, hard to know how to be helpful. River always just appreciated people being present.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember leaving here.”

After an episode, River rarely remembered what had happened. He could bounce back quickly, leaving those around him feeling confused and uncomfortable, often having to explain the types of things he’d done. It was hard to live with a person whose brain was so unpredictable. Of course, it was even harder to be this person. Like anyone else, Salem had blamed River for his outbursts. It was easy to cast blame when you didn’t understand. It likely wouldn’t have been too far off to say that everyone, at some point, had blamed someone else for something neither was responsible for. If a person was blamed enough times for things that weren’t their fault, they’d eventually begin to blame themselves too.

“Salem?”

River looked as though he was about to fall asleep. It was something he needed, probably.

“What?”

“Why did you come after me?”

It was hard to be vulnerable. None of the boys had ever been particularly good at it. Often, Salem envied people his age who had grown up learning to be emotionally open. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my brother.”

Sometimes, said Kioni, when the two were still getting to know each other, I don’t think you ever learned how to be vulnerable. That’s why you never take anything seriously, so that people can’t tell. She was an observant and intuitive woman. It was aggravating about her. Salem had loved her at one time.

“Yeah.” River yawned. “You only give a fuck because I’m your brother, and you have to. No one ever cares unless they have to.” He sighed, sitting up lazily on the bed. “Give me some of your weed.”

Frigg had arrived to pick them up. When Frigg was your ride, she never came inside to get you. Instead, she’d send a text, waiting approximately one minute before leaving without you. River smoked from a slim ceramic pipe, shuffling out the hotel door after his brother.