“And then he led me to his room and I thought I was going to faint,” Hannah says with a goofy grin.

The moist evening air has set in and only faint rays of sunlight peak over the mountains, making the temperature in the valley drop rapidly as the night approaches.

“I mean, I don’t really know what he meant by it, but what else could it be?”

Despite the gloomy atmosphere turning gloomier by the moment, girlish giggling rings out from the garden side of the Helland farm.

“Just look at it, Ma!” Hannah daintily holds up a small wooden bull, showing it off in the handkerchief she got it in. “Grim carved it himself, just for me. Can you believe it?”

The cold granite is as talkative as can be expected. A stiff breeze blows past and scatters the little bundle of crocus placed in front of the gravestone. Quickly gathering the flowers back up, Hannah returns them to their proper position. Readjusting a string draped on the stone so the rabbit foot hanging from it doesn’t cover the last couple of letters, she holds the bull back up to give it another look.

The oil Grim had coated it in can still be smelled on the little figurine. Damn fine work, if Hannah were to be the judge. She bundles it back into the handkerchief and holds it close to her chest, careful not to damage its thin wooden legs.

Sitting in the garden for another minute, Hannah spots her father come around the corner leading the last two sheep by their ears. They bleat in protest, but let themselves be led back to their barn for the night, the evening chill making them want for the warm inside.

Hannah notes that Sven isn’t helping her father with herding the sheep back in for the night. The old dog usually loves guiding them wherever they were needed, but it seems like he still refuses to come outside. Instead, Jonas is doing the job by hand, leading them in pairs, making his leg worse in the process. When Garm had suggested he’d do it, the two had nearly gotten into a fight. The siblings had forgotten to bring back the flour they went out to fetch, their father correctly surmising they had left intending to ‘goof off’, as he put it. After that, he would hear nothing of bad legs and left the house grumbling words like ‘useless’ and ‘ungrateful.’

As he comes out of the barn, Hannah can see he’s halting worse than ever as he shuffles back into the house, a tirade of muttered curses flowing from him like a faucet. Not long after, he comes back out, supporting himself on his cane. He’s got his rifle slung over the shoulder and with a determined walk, returns to the barn. Minutes go by, with no sign of Jonas coming back out. It looks, to Hannah, like her father’s plan to protect the sheep from bears was simply to stay in the barn during the night.

“It’s like he’s punishing himself,” Hannah says under her breath, the joy she felt earlier quickly fleeing. “It’s only been two years, and look at us,” she says while trying to hide a bitter grimace.

Sitting in the garden, watching as the reddening clouds slowly gray, a spell of sadness falls over Hannah. She does not cry. She will not cry. Not when she knows her family needs her. If only I knew how to help them, she thinks to herself.

“We still need you,” Hanna says to the gravestone, with a sullen, almost begging tone.

The cold granite does not respond.

“You’re right…” Hannah says after seconds spent in silence, “...I can’t help anyone sitting here feeling sorry for our situation.”

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Hannah wipes at a wet streak that snuck its way onto her chin and gets up to leave. She walks back to the house in a hurry, the chill becoming more than noticeable. A jacket would have been nice, she thinks to herself, getting a cold now wouldn’t be ideal.

Jogging the final couple of meters, Hannah gets inside and closes the door. After a brief internal debate, she decides not to lock the door for the night. If her father came to his senses during the night, he’d be outraged if he discovered the door locked. Better safe than sorry, she shrugs and moves inside to see Garm tending to the fireplace.

“Did you see Jonas?” Garm asks while prodding a burning log.

Hannah shuffles over to him and sits down, letting the heat wash over her. Breathing out a content sigh, she answers, “I don't think he’ll be coming back in. At least not for a bit.”

“Yeah, I figured…” Garm sighs and leans back on his elbows, “...when he got back he went straight to the kitchen and fetched the Krag, then left without so much as a word.”

The two sit in quiet contemplation, watching the embers turn to ash, the silence interrupted by the occasional crackling from the fire.

“I should have remembered the flour,” Hanna mumbles.

“We should have remembered the flour,” Garm corrects, “besides, it was my idea.” He leans back further to see into the kitchen and shakes one of the smaller logs in his hand, calling for Sven.

Paws can be heard tapping over the floor before the old sheepdog peeks his head into the living room. He scans his surroundings as if he’s uncertain how safe his little excursion away from his hiding place under the kitchen bench really is. Seemingly deciding that the cold of the kitchen floor can wait for him he carefully paws his way over to them, takes the log from Garm’s hand, and settles in between them. Garm scratches Sven behind his ear as the dog begins contentedly gnawing on the piece of wood.

“I knew I could trick you out of hiding. All you needed was some warmth and a nice stick, huh?” Garm says while giving him a thorough rub-down. Sven looks up at him and turns his head in a doggy grin.

Garm and Sven are having a tug-o-war with the stick when Garm notices his sister looking at something. He lets the dog win and peers over at Hannah, who’s admiring the bull tucked in a bundle of cloth. “Hey, what do you have there?”

“This?” Hannah says with a dreamy smile, “Just a gift.”

“A gift, huh?” Garm says and returns a half-smile. He looks closer and sees the head of the wooden bull peaking up from the handkerchief. “So that’s why you and Grim left me all alone. Outside. In the cold.” He gives her a teasing grin, but pauses when he sees Hannah's blissful expression remains unmoved. After receiving no reply he continues in a more genuine tone, “It’s, uh… a cool gift.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Hannah says and lifts it out of the handkerchief to give Garm a better look.

After Garm gets to look at, then hold the gift for a bit to examine the handiwork, the siblings remain seated by the fireplace. It’s getting quite late, but they expect their father to burst in any second, likely followed by a litany of curses. Nights are still long and cold, surely he didn’t mean to stay in the barn until morning? Maybe when he returned they’d get him seated by the fire and find him a chair to rest his leg on. Their father could be a right bastard at times, and as sour as an aged lemon, but that morning they’d taken advantage of a moment of goodwill. Jonas had seemed genuinely concerned at the prospect of a bear in the valley, yet he’d allowed them to leave on an errand. An errand Garm had made up on the spot as an excuse to go chat with a friend. An errand they’d failed to complete despite how very easy it would have been.

Despite their intent to make up for the mistake, the hour dragged on and there were no signs their father would return from the barn. Soon Sven snores happily between them, looking like this is the first real rest he’s had in days.

Hannah’s the first to stir. Careful not to wake Sven from his slumber, she whispers a brief, “Good night,” before retreating to her room.

Garm remains seated, but not long after he too feels his eyelids grow heavy. With slow movements, he carefully scoots away from their dog, as to avoid disturbing him, and gets up to leave. Yawning as he walks up the stairs, Garm hopes this night will bring better dreams than the previous one.