Between two tardy rainclouds the gentle rays of dawn peak down on the valley below. The turbulence of the night has left large pools of water everywhere and the forest floor has been left a swampy hazard for all but the most desperate of animals. Still, a long and cold winter leaves few options for hungry critters and a rumbling stomach will force anyone out of hiding after enough time.

A pair of stumpy, fur-clad antlers peak up from the brush between two birch trees. A pair of ears and two glassy eyes soon follow. With careful movements, the stag scans the horizon and smells the air. After confirming the coast is clear it rises out of its hiding place and begins the quest to fill its rumbling belly.

The stag walks down to a stream of passing water and bites down on a piece of loose foliage. After a couple of chews, it thinks better of it, leaves the rest alone, and takes a drag of the freshwater instead.

Quick as a flash the stag's head shoots up from its drink. Frozen in indecision it scans the forest once more. There is nothing there, but an eerie feeling has taken hold of the animal making it want nothing but to flee back to its flock. Hunger wars with instinct as the stag remains rooted in place.

Instinct wins as the stag makes to jump back into the safety of the forest.

*BANG*

A shaking barrel is lowered and a victorious smile forms on Garm's face, “I hit it!”

The stag stumbles briefly, then turns around in a dead sprint and disappears between the trees.

“No, wait! But, I…” Garm makes as if to run after the animal and takes a long step towards the direction it left. With a loud *slorp* his boot sinks through the boggy underbrush. After a series of choice words, all while trying to yank his rapidly filling footwear out of the muk, the gangly youth accepts his fate and sits down in the wet moss.

Garm affixes his most disapproving look and slowly peers to his left. He spots a mound of red curls where he expected them to be.

“Oh, sweet beloved sister of mine…” he begins, “...do you mind?” he says, and gestures down to his situation while stretching his hand out for aid.

“No,” Hannah replies and gets up from her crouch, “I don’t mind at all.”

She wipes her knees of twigs and dirt while trying, and failing, to hide a smirk. “You hit it, huh?” she asks while grabbing for Garm’s hand and the two begin hoisting the sunken leg out of the bog.

“Don’t rub it in,” Garm grumbles under his breath. With another *slorp* the leg comes loose and the two stumble back onto dry land under the pine serving as their hiding spot. “I’m already in trouble as is, I can do without you getting on my back as well.”

Hannah’s taunting smirk is gone, replaced with an expression of light concern, “Without that stag or even a rabbit to show for it, what will you say to…?”

“I’ll think of something,” Garm says and pulls off his boot, watching the brown water trickle out while pointedly ignoring his sister’s skeptical stare. Even now just holding up his boot he can see the tremble caused by his shaking hands. He knows Hannah’s noticed as well, though she’s too polite to point it out.

“Time to go home,” he sighs, pulls the soggy mess back on, and gets up to leave. Pulling back the lever on the rifle he pops out the empty shell and pockets it. “We should… Hannah? What are you doing?”

The freckled girl had walked off and was crouched, rummaging through a bush of wet blueberry heather. After a couple of seconds, she lets out an affirmative, “Mhm!” as if all is right once more, and gets back up, seemingly ready to leave.

“Hannah, put that back.”

“No.”

“Hannah, please. It’s gross and you’ll get sick.”

“I will not. It’s mine now.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The girl was holding out a severed hare’s paw. To Garm’s disgust, the limb was still dripping with gore.

“It’s lucky,” Hannah started while wrapping the severed appendage in a piece of cloth from her pocket, “besides, Ma will like it.”

Garm sighed and decided there would be no point in explaining that this was, in fact, not a rabbit’s paw, but belonged to a hare. Nor did he point out that however much luck was hidden away between the hare’s digits it had not helped the poor creature when it mattered the most. Resigning himself to the situation he simply replied, “Yeah. Yeah, She will like it,” and began walking back towards the forest path.

After half an hour of walking the two come upon the bridge that separates the forest, christened The Plug by locals, from the rest of the valley. It is just as precarious as when they crossed it earlier that morning, but with the sun high in the sky they stride across the log bridge with confidence. The rainwater added to the meltwater has made the river start licking the bottom of the logs they tread on. The old log bridge has fared worse weather and in seeming defiance of the frothing stream lets the siblings over with no more than wet soles.

On the other side, they spot the Madsens are hard at work on the mill.

Garm points at the water wheel, “Looks like the storm’s taken a toll on the old mill.”

From where they stand it looks like several planks on the wooden wheel have come loose during the night.

“Yes, but Birk and Grim will have it up and running in no time. Look, there they are now.”

It is Hanna's turn to point as two men come running around the corner carrying planks and tools. The older of the two gestures animatedly at the damage and the younger nods meaningfully between his father's breaths.

“Joohoo!” a familiar female voice calls them over.

Sandra Madsen carries a large wicker basket brimming with newly washed clothes while waddling in the direction of the clothesline strung up in their garden. She puts down her load and wipes her forehead before gesturing them over.

“Hannah and Garm? You’re up early today. Been doin’ some huntin’ have ya?” she asks and looks at the rifle slung over Garm's back.

“Not recently, no,” Garm replies, “just out practicing is all.”

“Ah, out makin’ your old man proud then. And you Hannah? Just taggin’ along today?” Mrs. Madsen turns to Hannah expectantly, missing the shade of discomfort on Garm’s face.

“Just looking out for my brother,” Hannah answers with a short nod.

“Keepin’ him out of trouble? I’m sure Garm needs all the help he can get,” Mrs. Madsen says with a good-hearted smile. “You two stick around for a bit. I just made sugar buns this mornin’ and I can’t leave you two empty-handed.” Then, looking like she’s just remembered something, she adds “How’s the lamp oil over at the Helland farm?”

Garm thinks for a bit and tells her they haven’t stocked up in a while. The comely woman nods, then walks back to the house.

“What do you think that was about? Why ask about our lamp oil?” Hannah wonders out loud and begins fishing socks out of the basket and hanging them on the clothesline.

“Beats me, but I’m always happy to taste Sandra's baking,” Garm says while waving to Grim who has just noticed their presence.

The large boy puts down his tools and trots over to greet them, “Mornin’, Garm. You been out huntin’ I see.”

“Just practicing,” Garm shrugs, “And you? The water wheel looks pretty busted up.”

“Yeah, Dad’s been shoutin’ about it all mornin’,” Grim says with an easy smile and looks over as his father, Birk Madsen, huffs around the corner holding boxes of nails and screws.

Garm gestures to a couple of planks that barely hang onto the side of the large waterwheel, “Looks like it’ll be a hell of a job.”

“Me n’ dad will have it sorted by sundown. It’s nothin’ we haven’t seen before,” Grim explains while scratching his ear. “Well. Anyway. I see mom coming over and I gotta get back to helpin’ dad get the wheel back up.”

Grim stretches his arms into the air followed by a long exhalation, “See you around, Garm. And, eh… nice to see you too, Hannah,” with a small wave and a sheepish smile in Hannah's direction, Grim jogs off.

“See you around, bud,” Garm replies as his friend goes back to work. He looks back to where Hannah is seemingly busying herself with hanging up Mrs. Madsen’s laundry, “Too busy to say hello to our neighbors?”

Hannah remains silent in her work, but Garm notices her face redden a shade.

Mrs. Madsen is breathing heavily as she returns to them, “Oh, thank you, Hannah. You didn’t have to,” she says with a smile, but they can see she’s clearly appreciative of the help. She hands each of them a pair of steaming sugar buns and gives Garn a pitcher of sloshing oil. “You just send the pitcher back when you are done with it, won’t you?”

“Thanks a lot, Mrs. Madsen, we will, but why lamp oil?” Hannah says with her mouth full of baked goods.

“Oh, you haven’t seen... You know what? It’ll be a surprise for when you get home,” Mrs. Madsen replies unhelpfully and gives Hannah a wink, dimples showing in her wide cheery smile.

The siblings look at each other and return a smile of their own before waving goodbye to their neighbors.

Despite having his cheeks full of sugar bun, Garm's mood falters soon after they leave. His mind spins with what will happen when he gets home.