'Father and son'

"It won't be day for much longer."

My father stops for a moment to look at the sky. I do the same.

"Today seemed longer than usual." I say.

Without my notice, he begins walking again. "We should hurry."

My gazing lasts for a second longer before I trail him once more.

Shrinking under the weight of my steps, the novel snow leaves deep footprints. Crushed by my boots, it makes a relaxing sound. Other than our steps, only the slight breeze of wind passing through the bare branches makes a quiet noise.

Lost in my thoughts, father's voice brings me down to earth. "I told you to step on my tracks."

"Sorry." I return from my deviation to follow the path he shapes for me.

Today it was clear. It has been snowing daily for the past week or so. Not as heavy as frequent. I don't remember a time when it has snowed as much as it has snowed recently. Maybe it is one of those cold currents... Who knows?

"It's not far to the village..."

His steps come to a halt. I raise my gaze to see my father's hand reaching out to me. I stumbled from the immediate stop.

"Hand me the rod."

I take the fishing rod tied with a string to my back and give it to him. He crouches as he puts his rucksack down. He ties my rod to his rucksack, next to his rod.

"Take this knife."

He hands me a sheathed knife, maybe twice the length of my palm.

"Hold it tight. You are a man." he says.

I strengthen my grip in response.

"Remember, if something is to happen and I tell you to run, you run home as fast as you can."

I take my focus away from the dagger to look my father in the eyes. I nod without a word.

"I want to hear you say it."

I gulp saliva before I speak. "If anything is to happen and you tell me to run, I run home as fast as I can."

He shows a slight smile as he lets air out through his nose. I can see the moisture of his breath. "Good."

He stands up and faces the other way to continue walking.

"You shouldn't have the need to unsheathe it. However," he accentuates "if you are to be pinned to the ground, know to use it." he speaks without facing me.

I begin walking again. "Yes, father."

The before dense forest becomes thinner as trees grow farther apart from one another, the more we approach the village.

It wasn't long before I could see, looking through distant branches, a cloud of smoke.

"Fire." I point out.

My father remains silent. Only after a few seconds does he speak. "Be on the look for anything out of order and report it to me immediately."

His posture tightens. Bending forward, he walks with caution, having his knees slightly flexed. His hand holds the hunting knife unsheathed.

I assume a stance which resembles his and watch everything in detail. There is no sign of footprints. Branches are still covered with snow.

The only thing out of order is the smoke at a distance. It is unusual for somebody to light a fire midday for cooking or heating. It is common sense this act simply marks you a target.

Could it be arson?

With small and silent steps, we near the village.

As soon as I see the first house at the margin of the forest, I also begin to see tracks in the snow.

I see the ones we made when we left and I clearly see more.

I speak in a quiet voice. "More tracks."

My father doesn't respond, but I can tell he's taken notice of it.

It is really quiet.

Unhurriedly drawing near, I became aware I had stepped on the footprints which seemed farther away earlier. I could resemble no substance from the sign. It voiced no secret to me. As if these tracks were made by straying around the trees.

Father, 3-4 steps afront, raised his hand holding the knife to point to a tree on the right. Understanding the signal, I take cover at the its base. I look at my father to see him do the same to the last but also first tree of the forest, on the other margin of the road. His gaze shoots up at the rooftops of the houses.

Is he looking for archers?

The faint odour of smoke enters my lungs.

Looking at the source of it, I could tell the fire was not ignited far from home. That is, the smoke – now looking more intimidating than ever – originated from the centre of the village, but slightly to the right of my line of sight.

But there is no sign of people around.

My father gestures for me to come to his side.

I quickly moved to the other side, careful not to trip. The moment I get to father, I kneel with my right knee and come close to him.

His back facing the tree, he speaks quietly so only I can hear him with my left ear.

"There seems to be nobody around yet."

He takes another short look at the houses and then steers his attention back upon me.

"We will enter the village and head straight home. At all times you must be 2 steps behind me."

He speaks with an earnest tone. I listen heedfully.

"You will be keeping watch of our back; that is, I will be guarding our front. You tell me immediately when you notice anything."

As I nod, I say "Understood.".

After taking a deep breath, he says "Let's go." and he stands up.

I followed him into the village, maintaining a short distance between us. Concentrating on the surroundings, I pay attention to every detail. We walk silently, not to alert anything there could be.

Seconds pass slowly as we travel by a house and another.

The wooden window covers as well as the doors don't seem to have been opened. The snow is mostly unfazed.

With the corner of my eye, I see a movement.

Focusing my vision, I spot the silhouette of a short man swaying in his walk. He was a long way off from us.

"Father!"

My father turns alertly.

"Atlas!"

I quiver at the loud call of the man.

Looking at my father, I see his face turn into an apparent frown.

"S-Sebastian?" he speaks more to himself.

"Wait up!" says the man hurrying his pace.

Uncle Sebastian?

Father says "Behind me.".

I quickly responded by taking cover behind him. Now I take the shift at guarding the way we were headed.

Not before long, the man speaks again. But this time he is much closer.

"Atlas!... Good day!"

My father straightens up and responds "Sebastian.".

"Haven't seen you in a while. Is everything good?"

Judging by his voice, the man really seems to be uncle Sebastian.

"We are alive." is what my father says.

"... How about my sister? How is she?"

"Ophelia is good. What are you doing out here? Night is about to fall."

"I-" the voice cuts off to let me hear a bursting laughter.

The increasingly more violent laughter echoes through the silent setting.

A deep breath ceases it.

An emotion I have never seen before, that can only be described by an ill misery, is carried by his words.

"They tried to eat my child."

My mind goes blank. My limbs become numb. My vision darkens.

"They murdered my dear Angelina and tried to eat her!" The voice becomes louder. "Those savages!"

Father maintains silent. I can't tell his reaction.

"And so, I burned them all down!"

"My own house!" quieter "My own blood...".

A moment of pause breaks through.

"Let the night come... I already lost everything I ever worked for... My life isn't worth more than..."

His voice stops.

I peak to see what has happened only to come across his face. His eyes stared emptily at the snow. He is holding his hand pressed to his stomach. His thin clothes are painted with blood. His dry, skinny face, with prominent cheekbones, turns to gaze at me.

"Little Daedal!"

My father raises his hand to cover me.

"You'd better watch carefully over him." He sighed. "You wouldn't want what happened to me..."

I didn't hear anything for a moment, but the silence is discontinued by an echoing thud.

My father speaks as he turns away and begins walking hurriedly.

"Quickly. Let's go home."

I followed him. Looking back, uncle Sebastian was laid face down onto the snow.

It was only at that moment that I noticed the sky had become almost as dark as night.

Deficient of emotion, I only walked behind my father.

To my right, a sun was lit up and fully ablaze.

To the contrast of the burning house, me and my father were merely silhouettes of shadow.

The heat radiated on my cheeks. The crackles were stabbing into my ears.

"You won't tell your mother anything more than I will."

I listen but don't respond.

His voice is blinded by an amplifying noise reverberating in my ears, in the back of my skull.

From one blink to another, we are approaching.

The empty feel of my feet crushing the snow guides me.

We are almost there.

Three rhythmic knocks make the door unlock.

Father opens the door to let me in first. After me, he enters and closes the door shut.

We're home...