Embers of fire help us get through the cold winter

Winter is finally over.

The sun climbs higher and stays longer each day. Most of the snow along the fjord has melted, revealing the damp black soil beneath. Tiny green shoots are already sprouting from under last year's withered leaves, so small and tender that they are almost invisible unless you look closely.

The wind blew in from the west, bringing with it the moisture from the sea. That moisture was sticky, clinging to the skin and seeping into the very bones.

Brody's knee started hurting around that time.

An old injury. It's been there for many years. It's usually fine, but on days like this—when the westerly wind brings continuous spring rain that lasts for days on end—the tendon in my knee feels like it's being squeezed, throbbing with pain. The rain started falling in the evening.

The rain, not dull and endless, pattered on the thatched roof, making a soft, rustling sound, like someone sifting beans from afar.

Brody was restless during dinner.

He shifted his position, then shifted again, but the soup in his bowl didn't seem to decrease at all despite him drinking for a long time. Tora, sitting opposite him, looked up at him.

"This rain," Brody said, "is so heavy it's like moss growing in your bones."

No one responded. Eric launched into a story about his harrowing experience at sea when he was young—nobody knew if it was true.

Brody shifted again.

"I'll have to find a cane later," he said, "to walk like an old man."

Tora continued drinking her soup, ignoring him.

But every time he hissed and took a breath, Tora's spoon would pause for a moment.

After finishing his meal, Brody didn't sit by the fire to sharpen his axe as usual. He stood up, walked to a corner, sat down, and stretched out his legs. The firelight didn't reach him there, so he hid in the shadows.

Olaf glanced at him, then continued clearing the dishes.

Late at night.

The fire in the hearth slowly dimmed, leaving only the red glow of embers that flickered intermittently. The longhouse echoed with even breathing—Tora slept on her straw mat, Ragnar beside her, and Astrid nestled in her mother's arms. Harald sat closest to the door, one hand resting on the handle of his axe.

Brody didn't sleep.

He lay there, tossing and turning. His family was asleep, but he wasn't prepared to endure it at all—

"hiss--"

"call--"

"Tsk—"

Tora finally sat up.

In the darkness, she stared in Brody's direction. Her eyes shone brightly in the red glow of the embers.

"Can you please stop moving?"

"My legs hurt," Brody said, his voice sounding like a scolded dog. "It's not like I wanted to move."

Tora remained silent for a moment.

Then she got up, walked over, and squatted down next to him.

Which one?

Right leg.

Tora looked down at his right knee. It was pitch black; he couldn't see anything.

Brody looked down at the head nestled against his knee. The golden-red hair was messy, with a few strands hanging down, almost touching his pants.

"When you were little," he suddenly said, "you were squatting on my lap like this when I held you."

Tora looked up: "I don't remember."

"I remember," Brody said. "You were much cuter back then, you didn't glare at people."

Tora glared at him again, stood up, and left.

Brody watched her figure disappear into the darkness.

It's good that he left. Who wants to sit with an old man with a sore leg in the middle of the night?

But Tora came back.

She held a folded old sheepskin in her hand and shoved it under his legs: "Use it as a cushion."

Brody looked down at the sheepskin, then looked up at her.

Tora had already sat down beside him, legs outstretched, knees drawn up to his chest, looking at the dark red coals in the hearth.

"How did you know to use this?" he asked.

"My mother taught me that."

"oh."

silence.

The rain is still falling. Pattering, pattering.

Brody rummaged in his pocket for a while, then pulled out something and handed it to her.

It was a polished fish bone. Thin, with a hole drilled in the middle for threading a rope. The surface of the bone was polished smooth, gleaming pale yellow in the embers.

Tora took it and held it up to his eyes to look at it.

"What is this?"

"Fish bones," Brody said. "The ones I told you to bring back for you from the Cod Reef trip. Forgot?"

Tora was taken aback for a moment.

Cod Reef. That happened last year. My uncle had nine stitches in his forehead and came back empty-handed.

"You haven't forgotten?" she asked.

Brody scoffed, "Does your uncle look like someone with such a good memory?"

Tora didn't speak. She clutched the fishbone in her hand, it hurt a little from the pressure.

"I was originally going to make you a pendant," Brody said. "Once it was finished, you'd just keep it with you, and eventually you'd forget about it."

Tora looked down at the fishbone for a long time.

"Put the rope on me."

Brody paused for a moment, then asked, "Now?"

"Otherwise what?"

Brody scratched his head: "There's no rope."

Tora stood up, ran to a corner, rummaged around for a while, and found a thin leather rope, which she handed to him.

Brody took the leather cord and bent down to thread it through the hole. His hands trembled slightly—his fingers were too thick, and the hole too small. He tried three times but couldn't get it through.

The fourth time, she got in. Brody tied the rope at both ends and handed it to her.

Tora took it and hung it around her neck. The fishbone pendant dangled against her chest, feeling cool.

She looked down at him, then looked up at Brody.

Brody looked at her. His expression was obscured in the darkness, but the corners of her mouth seemed to curve slightly.

"Is it pretty?" she asked.

"It's alright," he said.

Tora snorted and stuffed the fishbone into her clothes, right against her skin.

I sat there for a long time.

Tora started yawning. One, two, three. Her head drooped little by little.

Brody said, "Go to sleep."

Tora shook her head.

After a while, she leaned on Brody's shoulder and fell asleep.

Brody looked down at the head resting on his shoulder. The golden-red hair was messy, with a few strands sticking to the face. He remembered many years ago, when Tora had just learned to walk, she would climb onto him like this, refusing to get down and insisting that he carry her.

His knees didn't hurt back then.

He reached out and gently brushed the strand of hair that had fallen onto her face. He moved very lightly, afraid of waking her.

Tuola stirred slightly, mumbled something, and then fell into a deep sleep again.

Brody didn't move. He just sat there, letting her head rest against him, listening to the rain and her breathing.

My knee still hurts.

But it doesn't seem so hard to get through anymore.

The rain stopped. Dawn was breaking.

Olaf was the first to wake. She sat up and saw two people leaning against the fire—Brody was sleeping with his head tilted back, his right leg stretched out, an old sheepskin under his knee; Tora was curled up in a small ball, fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder. She now wore a fishbone pendant around her neck, which gleamed pale yellow in the morning light.

Olaf watched for a long time.

Then she stood up, tiptoed over, picked up the fallen sheepskin horn, and covered Tora with it.

Brody stirred and opened his eyes.

Olaf looked at him, then at the fishbone on Tora's neck, and said nothing.

Brody didn't say anything. He just glanced down at Tora, who was leaning on his shoulder, and then closed his eyes again.

Olaf turned to start a fire.

Tora woke up when the flames leaped up. She rubbed her eyes and was startled to find herself leaning against her uncle. She sat up straight and glanced down at the fishbone in her chest.

Then she stood up, walked to the door, and pushed it open.

The ground outside was still wet, but it was already daylight. The sun peeked out from behind the eastern mountain ridge, tinting the clouds a pale gold. The air smelled of rain, damp and cool, mixed with the scent of earth and grass.

She stood by the threshold, her hand on the fishbone in her chest, looking at the sun.

A humming sound came from behind.

Brody was still sitting by the fire, rubbing his knees and hissing as he did so. As dawn broke, he no longer needed to endure the pain; he would groan in pain, each groan more exaggerated than the last.

Tora glanced back at him.

Brody met her gaze and hummed even more enthusiastically.

Tora didn't speak. She turned around, stepped out the door, and into the sunlight.

The sound drifted from the front:

"It's so noisy."

Then she started running. Her braids swayed behind her shoulders as she ran towards the dock.

Brody remained seated, watching the figure grow smaller and smaller as it ran away.

The sunlight shone on her, turning her head, which had run far away, into a golden-red color. It swayed back and forth, getting smaller and smaller, until it finally disappeared behind the wooden frame by the dock.