In the forest known as the Plug silence reigns. There is no wind rustling treetops, no rain splashing into buddles, not a sound that could cover for a small critter looking for a bite to eat. Despite the eerie quiet that lies like a blanket over the land, there is no such life to be spotted. That is, besides the sudden cracks of old branches as a lone figure rises out of the underbrush.

Harry Thompson Junior, the oldest of the Thompson boys, got to his feet, looking for all the world to be in a terrible mood. With a frustrated sigh, he unloads his rifle and slings it over his shoulder.

Harry, who recently turned nineteen, had often been compared to his mother in appearance. While this made him less than happy whenever it came up in conversation, the similarities were hard to deny. Especially now, sporting a sour expression, the hawk-like features of his mother were more pronounced than usual. Muttering to himself in short, frustrated growls, he begins the journey back to the Thompson farm.

The lanky youth had gotten up before dawn that day. Not that it was too hard, he thought to himself, after all, he’d gotten shit for sleep. He had blamed it on the excitement he’d felt to have a day off of the usual tilling of the fields or readying the seeds for planting. A day all to himself and he was going to spend it hunting. Caressing the stock of his birthday gift he felt another pang of irritation at the lackluster day.

Shading his eyes, Harry looks up at the sky and sees it’s almost midday. All those hours wasted crawling through the underbrush and sneaking over hills only to peer into the distance for hours, only to see… what? A whole lot of nothing, that’s what! No deer, no rabbits or hares, nothing!

Harry stopped in his tracks and grew silent. He stilled his breathing, the way his father had thought him, and just listened for a minute. Seemingly confirming his suspicions he screwed up his face and walked on. Even the birds had stopped singing. Half a day skulking through the woods he hadn’t even heard birdsong.

“It’s almost like I’m being mocked,” Harry says under his breath, knowing fully well nobody can hear him.

Finding his way back to the path, he can soon see the Grime flowing before him. The river hadn’t lost a bit of force over the last few days, Harry noted. Getting back to the old log bridge, he sees the water level has risen dangerously high. The water now flows at a point where the turbulent current, every so often, sends waves to wash over the wooden planks on top of the bridge.

Undeterred by the raw natural powers hammering the wooden structure, Harry’s about to step onto the first plank when he spots something out of the ordinary. Leaning down to get a better look he peers at the third plank before him and sees a faint red trail coming from a spot where the water recently splashed. Getting closer he sees there is, or was, a spattering of blood that’s being washed away by the stream.

Shrugging to himself, Harry gets up and begins strolling across the bridge. He figures an animal must have gotten hurt and wandered in this direction. Maybe it tried to cross the Grime, then fell in halfway across the bridge. Snickering as he imagines a halting fox slipping and falling into the turbulent river, Harry does not notice a wet patch on the planks, green with mossy growth. Stepping on the miscolored plank his foot shoots forward on the slimy surface. Before he knows it, Harry’s vision rapidly ascends as his arms instinctively shoot out to his sides for balance. In a panic-stricken moment, it feels like he’s free-falling through the air before slamming into the sturdy bridge, back first.

Clutching one arm on each side of the bridge and breathing rapidly, Harry can’t even sense the pain in his back from landing on his rifle. Laying there for several moments, letting the panic subside, he finally dares attempt to get up. Slowly getting back on his feet, feeling a tingle of pain shoot from ass to neck at every movement, he gets himself righted. Taking his time to study each step he slowly walks the rest of the way across the Grime and can't help but breathe a sigh of relief when he’s finally on the other side.

Now that he’s made it to safety, fear is slowly being replaced by anger. Harry begins loudly swearing and feebly stomping his feet. After running out of breath he has cursed the forest, the bridge, the Grime, and everything in between. This entire day has been nothing but terrible.

After steaming off he begins trotting along the road again, a feeling of melancholy settling in as he makes his way back home. Walking along the road he soon spots the old mill in the distance. The smell of Mrs. Madsen’s cooking floats gently through the air, and meets Harry’s nostrils, reminding him of dinner. Maybe the day could be saved still. If just a little. He is looking forward to getting home, having dinner, and lazing around the house for a bit. Spirits slightly lifted and trying not to dwell on what could have happened if he hadn’t caught himself on the bridge, he confidently strides on.

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Not long after, Harry spots a familiar figure as he’s about to pass the mill. Is that Garm standing alone in the Madsen’s garden? Maybe today won’t be such a waste after all? Hiding a grin of childlike cruelty and straightening his back, Harry begins walking in Garm's direction. He’s got more than a bit of frustration to work out and just spotted a volunteer.

“Afternoon, Shivers, you’re looking a little lost,” Harry starts, startling Garm, who didn’t see him come up behind him.

Quickly regaining his composure, Garm greets the new arrival with a brief, “Afternoon,” before putting his hands in his pockets.

Noticing the nickname had the desired response, Harry continues, trying not to smirk, “Where’s Grim? You’re here, but where’s your big buddy?”

“He’s around. What are you doing here, Harry?” Garm answers, looking like he’d rather be somewhere else.

Not letting an opportunity to brag go by, Harry taps his rifle and gives Garm a haughty look, “Oh, I’m just out hunting, as you can see…”

“I can see that,” Garm says, giving the rifle a brief glance.

Spotting the tint of longing in the glance, Harry thinks it’s time to rub a little salt in old wounds.

“...yeah, my dad taught me,” Harry says, unable to hide his grin, “real man's job that… hunting.”

Wanting for nothing but the world to open up and devour him, Garm struggles to think of something to say before stammering out, “Y-yeah, a real man’s job.”

As much as he wants to bask in tormenting his neighbor a little longer, Harry spots Grim coming out of the building, followed by Hannah carrying something wrapped in cloth.

“Afternoon’, Harry. Good to see you,” Grim says with a friendly smile. “How’s your brother?”

“Good Afternoon, Grim. Teddy’s still mostly crying or shitting himself, being a baby and all,” Harry responds, quickly exchanging his malicious grin with a more jovial one.

Hannah comes up behind Grim and greets Harry with a wave and a short, “Hello,” while looking over at Garm. Noticing her brother looking less than pleased, intensely studying a tuft of grass, she quickly picks up the mood of the conversation they butted into. “What brings you all the way out here this morning?” she asks, keeping her tone neutral.

Harry gives her a confident look and taps his rifle, “As I was just telling your brother, I’ve been out hunting.”

“I see,” Hannah replies curtly.

Understanding what got her brother looking like he’d been slapped isn’t much of a challenge. This wasn’t the first time the taller boy had taken the opportunity to prod Garm’s sore spots to entertain himself.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been out since dawn,” Harry says, taking on the tone of a storyteller, “I’ve been skulking unseen through the forest for hours, spotting hares and capercaillie skittering around.” Picking up steam he continues, “You know, I’ve been trained by my father to track animals effortlessly, just waiting for an opportunity to…”

“Hares and capercaillie, huh? That sounds very impressive,” Hannah interrupts with a deadpanned voice, “I’m sure you’re bringing home quite the haul.” She peers over Harry’s shoulder like she is looking for an entire elk strapped to his back.

“I… No, I mean,” Harry stutters, having been pushed off his tracks.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Harry. Can’t be lucky every time,” Grim, who’s not picked up on any of the tension, says while giving Harry an understanding nod.

“I’ve… just been out practicing, is all…” Harry tries, clearly a bit flustered.

“Practicing in the forest?” Garm butts back into the conversation. He gives his sister a thankful smile before continuing to Harry, “You know there’s a bear prowling around the Plug now?”

“A bear?!” Harry expels in a moment of genuine shock, before composing himself.

“That’s right, you’ve been out since dawn so you haven't heard yet,” Hannah says nodding along. “There’s been a bear at Widow Maria’s barn. Took a cow and escaped back into the forest.”

“You should have seen the aftermath. Meat, blood, and bones spread everywhere, a real grizzly affair,” Garm explains in a grave tone, spotting Grim smile at the unintentional pun in his side vision.

“Must’a been tired and full after the night,” Grim says and gives Harry a friendly clap on the shoulder. He’s decided not to comment on his friends' newfound knowledge of the incident and simply rolls with it. “Still good to see you in one piece. You never know.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” Harry says quietly before excusing himself.

The trio watches Harry jog back home in silence before being called inside by Mrs. Madsen. Hannah and Garm then spend several minutes kindly rebuffing Mrs. Madsen’s insistence they need to stay for dinner, before eventually accepting a piece of apple pie each. After that, they relocate to Grim’s room where they descend into friendly banter and reminiscing about the mischief the the three of them would get up to in their youth. An hour flies by before Hannah, ever the responsible one, points out they really should get back home. They get ready to leave, saying goodbye to Grim and his family and thanking Mrs. Madsen for the pie. Not long after they are back on the road to the Helland farm.

They may not have learned much about recent events, but the two are satisfied nonetheless. Nothing’s as good for the spirit as good company, and who’s to say there won't be another opportunity to gleam some information another day?