Embers of fire help us get through the cold winter

That afternoon, Brody returned from the dock carrying something in his hand.

Tora was the first to see it. She ran from the other end of the open space, her braid swinging behind her shoulder, and stopped abruptly when she reached her uncle, her eyes fixed on the wooden stick in his hand.

"For me?"

Brody handed him the stick.

Tora took it and held it up to her eyes. It was a wooden sword, longer and heavier than her old one. The blade was neatly sculpted, and the hilt was carefully rounded, just the right size for her hand. She swung it once, then again, the air whistling as it cut through the air.

"The old one is too short," Brody said in a muffled voice, as if he were talking about something unimportant.

Tora didn't speak. She held the new wooden sword above her head, looking at it in the sun, where the blade was bathed in a pale gold light.

Then she turned and ran.

"Ragnar!"

Ragnar was sitting on the doorstep, whittling a stick for who-knows-what. He looked up and saw Tora charging towards him with a wooden sword in hand, his expression one of "you're finished" excitement.

"Let's duel!"

"I have no weapon."

Tora looked down at the wooden stick in his hand—it was crookedly whittled, a half-finished product. She snatched it away and shoved it back into his hand: "Now you have it."

Ragnar looked at the shapeless thing in his hand, then at Tora's gleaming eyes.

"That's not fair."

"Fair!" Tora was already in a fighting stance, his wooden sword pointed at his nose. "I'll count to three. One—"

Ragnar stood up, gripped the stick, and didn't move.

"two--"

He still didn't move.

"three!"

Tora lunged at him. Ragnar dodged to the side, the wooden sword grazing past his ear. He took two steps back, and Tora lunged again. This time, he blocked with his wooden stick, almost dropping it.

"Why are you hiding!" Tora shouted.

"You're too fast."

"Then run!"

Ragnar then actually started running. He circled around the open field, Tora chasing after him, the wooden sword whistling through the air, unable to strike, but the wind whistling through it.

Astrid sat on the sheepskin by the doorway, watching her older brother and sister run around. She didn't quite understand what they were doing, but it looked very interesting. She clapped her hands once, then clapped them again, making "ee-ya" sounds.

Tora heard it and glanced back. In that instant, she tripped over a stone, fell forward, and landed hard on the ground.

The wooden sword flew out and landed a zhang away.

Ragnar stopped and looked back at her.

Tora lay on the ground, stunned for two seconds. Then she slowly got up, her knee scraped in mud, and her palms red. She looked down at her hands, then at the new wooden sword that had flown out of her hand.

Ragnar walked over, picked up the wooden sword, and handed it to her.

Tora took the sword without saying a word. She looked down and tried to brush the mud off her knees, but it wouldn't come off; the mud had already smudged into her skin.

"Does it hurt?" Ragnar asked.

"It doesn't hurt," Tora said.

But she paused for a moment while patting the mud, then continued. Her eyes remained lowered, never looking up.

Ragnar saw something flash in her eyes. It was bright, like a raindrop on the tip of a blade of grass after rain. She blinked, and it disappeared.

Astrid clapped her hands again, making an even louder "ee-yah" sound than before. She didn't know what was happening, but seeing her sister standing up and moving, she felt she should be happy.

Tora glanced at her and suddenly smiled.

She raised her wooden sword and pointed it at Ragnar: "Again."

"Again?"

"This time, you're the one pursuing me."

She turned and ran. Ragnar, gripping the crooked wooden stick, stood there, watching her retreating figure. After running a dozen steps, Tora turned back and shouted, "Hurry up!"

He chased after him.

This time, Tora ran ahead, with Ragnar chasing after her. She ran very fast, her braids flying, and her wooden sword swaying in her hand. Ragnar couldn't catch up, but he kept chasing until Tora stopped on her own, bending over and panting.

"You're running...too slowly," she said, panting.

"It's clearly because you ran too fast."

Tora straightened up, looked at him, and suddenly shoved the wooden sword into his hand: "You take it, I'm going to rest for a bit."

Ragnar gripped the new wooden sword, which was much heavier than his staff. He swung it once; it was indeed very comfortable to handle.

Tora sat down beside her, gazing at the distant sea. Ragnar also sat down beside her, placing his wooden sword on his lap.

Astrid had somehow crawled over, arching her back on her little lambskin until she reached the two of them, then plopped down on Ragnar's legs, making indistinct "ya ya" sounds.

The three of them sat on the edge of the empty field, watching the sun slowly move westward.

After a while, Tora suddenly said, "Uncle Brody carved it."

"Um."

"When did he cut it?"

Ragnar thought for a moment: "I don't know. It might be a long time."

Tora looked down at her hand. The red mark on her palm was still there, and it still hurt a little.

"Where is my old sword?" she asked.

"Inside the house," Ragnar said. "You threw it by the hearth."

"oh."

silence.

Astrid leaned against Ragnall's leg, her eyes half-closed, almost asleep.

Tora suddenly stood up, took the wooden sword back from Ragnar's knees, raised it, and swung it again.

"This is better," she said.

Then she turned and walked towards the longhouse. After a few steps, she turned back and called out, "Dinner's ready!"

Ragnar looked down at Astrid. She was asleep, smacking her lips as if she were eating something delicious.

He picked her up, slowly stood up, and followed Tora's retreating figure back to the longhouse.

Inside, the hearth was already lit, and Olaf was dividing the cooked fish soup into bowls. Tora sat in her usual spot, with her new wooden sword beside her, her hand still resting on the hilt.

Brody sat opposite her, head down, drinking his soup, not looking at her.

But Ragnar noticed that his uncle's lips subtly curved upwards.