After a bit of walking Garm and Hannah approach the white-painted farmhouse, the little red barn, and the raised storehouse that make up the Helland farm. As soon as they walk off the main road Sven, their wild-haired, aging farmdog, spots them. His tongue pops out and his tail wags, although he seems hesitant to come out of the safety of his doghouse.

Hannah begins walking off towards the garden behind the main house, “See you inside.” She gives Garm a knowing look and disappears around the corner.

Garm sighs and looks down at Sven, “I don’t suppose you would take this one for me?”

Sven just stares up and gives him a doggy grin while wagging his tail.

“Didn’t think so” he says, bends down, and gives the dog a few pats before opening the door and heading inside.

The door opens with a low creak. Garm pulls off his boots and hangs them up to dry, takes off his coat, and gets ready to sneak his father's rifle back to its rack in the kitchen. He may have told Hannah he had a plan, something to say to his father to mollify his anger at Garm taking his beloved rifle without asking, but in truth, he is gambling his father hasn’t gotten out of bed yet. It’s still morning after all, and their father isn’t the early riser he once was.

Coming out of the foyer, Garm sneaks through the living room on his tiptoes and enters the darkened kitchen. He sneaks past chairs, making sure not to move anything that could give his presence away and, with shaking hands, lifts the rifle and places it on the rack hung on the far wall. Seeing it like this invokes so many memories in Garm. Memories of a better time, of him and his father out in The Plug walking carefully through the brush. Memories of him taking aim at a deer, of his father urging him to take the shot. He remembers the overwhelming pressure of expectation on his shoulders making his hands tremble. Then, bitter memories of the beating he had gotten when they returned home emptyhanded. The next hunting trip hadn’t gone any better. Nor had the one after that.

Garm brushed a hand through his sandy hair, pushing down bitter thoughts, and turned around to see his father come down the stairs. Jonas Helland looked gaunt despite his age and walked with a slight limp. He shared Garm's lanky build and sported a pair of thick eyebrows emphasized by the scowl he had taken to wearing at all times. Garm noted he wasn’t using his cane today, meaning there was a chance his mood wasn’t going to be as stormy as last night's weather.

“So. You didn't catch anything?”

It wasn't a question, but a statement. A whip to crack over Garm's back. He had seen him place the rifle back on its rack then, or perhaps he saw them come back through the window.

“Just out practicing,” Garm said in a small voice.

Damn it all, he really should have thought of something to say. Anything to make him sound less pathetic, or just get him out of this room quicker.

His father lets out a derogatory, “Heh,” under his breath, and sits down on his chair next to the table. “Well, kid, if you’re not gonna feed us then at least you can put on some eggs.”

“Yes, Jonas, I’ll do that,” Garm replies quickly, trying to hide the tremble in his hands by keeping them busy. He fumbles around for a bit, trying to find all he needs to boil some eggs while the silence hangs in the room like a choking cloud.

Garm puts the eggs in the pot, fills it with water, and fumbles with the matches to light their gas stove. After a couple of tries, during which he can feel his father’s stare trying to pierce the back of his head, he gets it to light. Only then does Garm realize the kitchen is still darkened, barely lit by the flames under the pot and the morning rays of sunlight peaking through the window.

He is about to go turn on the light, maybe use that as an excuse to leave the kitchen until he has to come back for the eggs when Hannah can be heard opening the door. They hear her put away her clothes, take off her shoes, and then enter the living room. Several muted clicks come from her direction before she peaks into the kitchen.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Hey, the light switch isn’t working!” Hannah scans the dimly lit room and notices their father sitting beside the table. “Morning, Da,” she says with a smile, walks over to Garm, and starts fishing through one of the cabinets.

After a minute, three empty lamps sit on the counter and Hannah begins filling them with the pitcher they received that morning.

“Lamp oil,” she states and gives Garm a meaningful look, “just what we needed.”

Hannah looks around the room and just now seems to pick up on the sour mood. Their father is wearing his usual scowl and has taken to stare directly out the window, while Garm is holding on to a boiling pot of eggs like it’s going to run off if he lets it out of his sight. The two of them have also, she notes, not said a single word since she walked in.

Hannah looks at her father, then looks over at her brother. Finally, she sighs, puts on her best sheepish look, and says, “Listen, Pa. I was the one who asked Garm to borrow the rifle. I should have known…”

“No! No, you did not,” Garm interrupts, before grabbing her arm and saying under his breath “and I don’t need you to help.”

“Are you sure?” Hannah retorts in an irritated whisper-shout, “Because to me…“

*SLAM*

The fist of Jonas Helland makes the table shake and the cups jump, “I don’t care whose fault it is!” he says, with barely contained rage, “I have told you, kid, the Krag stays on that rack, and under no circumstances are you to take it down!”

Their father makes as if he’s about to stand up before three short knocks can be heard from the front door. Garm notices the interruption has created a brief lull and grabs the opportunity like a lifeline.

“I got it,” he says and moves to receive their new guest.

Garm tries not to jog out of the kitchen while hiding a sigh of relief. He ignores his father's look as he makes his way across the room, through the kitchen door, and on through the living room.

The door creaks open to reveal the smiling face of Birk Madsen. The overweight man seems a little winded from his walk, but looks to be in otherwise good spirits.

“Good mornin’, Garm,” Mr. Madsen begins, “Sandra told me you and Hannah came by earlier, I'm sorry to say I didn’t notice ya.”

“No worries, Mr. Madsen, you and Grim looked busy and we were only passing by.”

“But, ya did get a piece of my wife’s bakin’ while you were there, yes?” Mr. Madsen strokes his belly and looks like he can smell the sugar buns still, “Best buns around!” he says and lets out a brief laugh.

“That they are,” Garm replies while trying not to think about Mr. Madsen’s euphemism.

Noticing Garm’s discomfort makes the jolly man smile even wider, “I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t come here to discuss my wife’s baking. Is your father home?”

“He is,” their father grumbles while halting around the corner to the kitchen, “What’s this about, Birk?”

“Well,” Mr. Madsen begins in a now much more businesslike tone, “you have probably noticed the power is out?”

“That we have.”

“It’s been the same everywhere since the storm, I reckon. Maria came by earlier with one of her kids. Told us one of the poles down the south side of the Little King fell last night.”

“That damned storm,” their father mumbles to himself before asking, “That means no phone either?”

“Afraid so. No phone and no lights. Good thinkin’ on my wife’s part to send some extra lamp oil with your kids earlier.”

“Kind of her.”

“So, yeah. I’m about to head over with my tools. Give that pole a look and see if I can’t get it up again with some elbow grease.”

“You do that, and thanks for taking the time to tell us, Birk,” their father says with a nod and begins shuffling his way back in.

“It’s nothin’,” Mr. Madsen says, returning the nod, “see ya around, neighbors.”

Mr. Madsen begins walking back down the road before Garm grabs his coat and pulls on the first shoe.

“Where are you going?” Hannah says.

“I’m gonna go see the broken pole, what else?” Garm replies and huffs, struggling with the other shoe. “Who knows, maybe Mr. Madsen needs help?”

“An the sheep? We still have duties, remember?”

“Shit. Fine! I’ll feed them first, then I go after him.”

“Good. And I’m coming with,” Hannah states matter-of-factly while putting on her own clothes.

Garm gives her an inquisitive look, “Oh, come on. Why?”

“It’s not every day these things happen and I’m also curious,” Hannah says and gives her brother a nonchalant shrug.

Garm thinks about just running for it, leaving Hannah to deal with the sheep, but dismisses the childish idea as quickly as it came. “Fine,” he sighs, before quickly adding, “but, you’re helping me feed the sheep.”