Trampling my way over the leafy tapestry of reds, oranges, and yellows, I drag the fallen log in my wake. I grimace as I feel the crunch of a fallen leaf through a gap in my shoe’s stitching. A pillar of hearth-smoke climbs what sky is visible at the edge of the Hading, providing a guide while I make my way home to Einhollstad.


    The hearth-fires are stoked hotter to combat the creeping cold, which throws thicker clouds of smoke into the air. Dark and heavy, the thick trail slowly meanders its way ever-higher. Once it reaches a certain height, the hungry sky spirits will eventually take notice and devour it piece-by-piece, bite-by-bite.


    Taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, I adjust my grip on the log and continue down the path. Soon, I pass beyond the Hading''s grasp and lay eyes on Einhollstad''s perch on the hill.


    Winding my way around the back of the hill, to where I''ve been told to leave the logs, I''m met with two thought provoking sights; one half-expected and one entirely not.


    Right where it should be is the pile of logs, just the way I''d left it; a mass grave of hundreds of trees. Nothing''s changed since last I was here a few hours ago, which strikes me as somewhat odd. With all the firewood we''ve been using in the hearth, surely one or two of the logs would''ve gone to feed said fire, right? And yet, they all remain untouched. While certainly unusual, I''d long grown used to it over the past few weeks.


    What I''m not used to is the presence of a certain brown-haired older sister of mine.


    Asva stands overlooking the pile, a frown creasing her lips and brow alike. Confusion runs rampant across her face as oblivious wind spirits play with her hair. She twitches as I step into view, her eyes narrowing as she spies my timber haul.


    She''s probably going to nail me with some sharp barb, so I ready myself to parry her assault and counter with one of my own.


    "Halla," she begins, genuinely confused and potentially even concerned, "why..." She wiggles a finger at the logs, "What''s going on?"


    I open my mouth, one of several insults ready and waiting to fly, only to pause as her words reach my ears. She''s... She''s being genuine right now. I''m almost tempted to take advantage of her lacking guard, but something tells me that''d be a bad idea.


    I set the log down before shrugging, "Dad told me to fell trees, so that''s what I''ve been doing. What''re you doing here?" I just can''t help myself.


    "Mom''s mad, mad at you," Asva replies, a little bit of fire in her eyes, "You''ve been skipping her lessons all week!"


    "Yeah, so?"


    "So she sent me to find you!" Asva grumbles, smoothing out her dress, "You''re lucky I found you here, else I''d have beaten you black and blue if I''d have had to go into the woods!"


    I snort and roll up a sleeve while giving my bicep a quick flex, "Anytime, o'' sister of mine, I''d be happy to test your mettle!"


    Asva pauses, eyes widening slightly, "W-when did you get so," she shakes her head and finds her footing, "Doesn''t matter how big your arms are, you''ll still never be able to reach the top shelf!"


    "Why would I need to," I laugh, "when I can just knock it down with a kick?"


    "Dad would tan your hide if he caught you messing around like that!"


    I snort and roll my eyes. Asva knows the same as I that there''s never been an emptier threat than that. Dad never hits me, or Asva, or any of his children. Well, training doesn''t count, obviously.


    Mother does hit me, though, so why... Why would Asva threaten me with Dad and not Mother?


    Asva frowns, her mind working through the same thoughts as me, "Halla, you said that Dad told you to do this, right?"


    "I did, yeah." My frown mirrors hers as I realize what she''s getting at, "You don''t think that he''s having an episode, do you?"


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Asva shrugs, "I''ve not seen him smoking at all, so it can''t be that, right?"


    "Right," neither of us sound especially certain of that fact. ...I think we''re going to have to ready our weapons for this one, "Do you, do you think we should tell Mother?"


    Asva blinks, looking at me like I''d grown another head, "I... That''s a first from you, Halla, if that is your real name."


    I chuckle, thankful for her humor to lighten the mood ever-so-slightly, "At least I have the hair to prove it!"


    Asva''s smile turns strained, but she swiftly brushes it off, "Lets... Lets go tell Mom."


    <hr>


    Mother listens close to our words, her frowning face carved from stone. Wrinkles mar her brow as we finish our tale, her eyes narrowing with sparking anger.


    She asks but one question: "How many trees have you chopped?"


    I share a quick look with Asva before answering, "I... I''m not sure. Hundreds, probably."


    Mother doesn''t speak as shadow dims the light and the hearth-fire shivers in fire. Storm clouds gather as thunder claps in the distance while the wind sobs and the earth trembles. Dirt-packed floors dare not cling to her shoes as her strides carry her across the room. The doors swing open of their own accord, fear commanding them into action upon her approach.


    Asva and I hurry along as the scent of burning feathers, the tell-tale of Mother''s anger, fills the air. Did we make a mistake in telling Mother? Maybe, but there''s no going back now. The only choice left for us is to see it through to the end, like dreng.


    We find Dad around the back of the house, showing Eric how to carve a proper canteen from a block of wood. The lessons will have to wait, however, as Mother will suffer no fools.


    "Steinarr Freedfire," Mother''s voice booms across the backyard, each step leaving dents in the foot-flattened ground, "What wicked spirit drives you to such madness as to order our youngest to clear the Hading?!"


    Dad freezes, eyes wide like he doesn''t quite understand what''s going on, "Asveig, I don-"


    "Don''t you ''Asveig'' me!" Mother thunders, her fury rivaling the greatest sea-storms. Eric flinches as the block of wood in his hand explodes, showering him in splinters and sawdust. He swiftly retreats to a safe distance, close to where Asva and I stand, and nervously picks wood-bits from his palm. "You know as well as I that the Hading won''t take kindly to so much wood being felled, doubly so if there''s no reason for it!" She takes a moment to calm herself and swallows a deep breath, "Please, Steinarr," she nearly falters on his name, "please tell me that you had a reason for sending our little Halla," a scowl crosses my lips, "on such a foolish quest?"


    Dad shifts from foot to foot as he cringes away from his wife''s ire. It would almost be comical for such a big man to fear anything if not for how... Oh, Gods, there''s almost nothing behind his eyes.


    He slumps forward, a broken man, as an agitated hand runs its way through his hair again and again. His jaw clenches and slackens in quick succession, his breathing speeding up as he scratches furiously at his beard. Thick smoke, the blackest I''ve ever seen, pours from his mouth like an unending waterfall of agony.


    Asva''s fingers find my hand and I squeeze tight to quell the shivers as Dad tries to speak, "I-I, I jus wan''ed," he''s stumbling through his words, forgetting letters and skipping syllables, "keep ''er safe."


    Mother''s gaze softens as her hands fall away from her hips. She steps forward, closing the distance with a single stride, and takes Dad''s hands in her own. "Steinarr," she whispers, yet our ears catch every single word, "how bad is it?"


    Dad speaks not a word, yet his silence answers all the same.


    Mother frowns as she considers the situation. Her eyes jump first to Eric only to note the still tender wound, she hardly even considers Salgrun as he watches from a distance, an odd look on his face; which leaves her gaze settling on me.


    The air stills as her stare bores a hole through my soul. I can''t look away, can''t even blink, as, for a single, lightning-fast heartbeat, Mother''s shadow gains a pair of wings.


    "Halla," Mother''s words catch me off-guard. She stands up straight with eyes aglow as power thrums through her voice, “listen close and listen well.”


    Daughter-mine,


    Of dauntless mind,


    Seek her the Seeress.


    Those that stand,


    Those against,


    Send them swift to their graves.


    My soul loom hums with power; my ordstirr threads thicken as the poem does its work. Despite the severity of the situation, I can''t help but smile and nod.


    Let the world try and stop me; for Asvir, I am coming.