Mikael looked down into the hole he dug. It was barely deep enough to contain the body of Brom, and the sides were uneven and lacked any precision.
The shovel laid on the ground, two bloody hand prints on it.
The constant strain and unfamiliar work tore the skin apart. But due to the cold the pain was a bit lessened, and even without that, Mikael wouldn't care.
'How do I get him in here?' he thought as he crawled out. Although not far away from the hut, Brom was a heavy man, and Mikael a thin boy.
At a slow pace he walked back into the building, his eyes looking down at the man that just seemed to sleep.
'Like he would wake up any moment and start in a new day.'
Mikaels tears long tried up. Washing his hands in a bucket of water, the dirt, blood and grass came of.
Then he attempted to drag Brom by his armpits, but apart from slight shifting he achieved nothing.
'Work smart, not just hard.' he recalled his fathers words. He let go of him, stepping back a bit and thinking.
He took the blanket he used to sleep, laying it next to Brom. It was a poorly made, but warm piece of cloth, as one side still had hairs left from the animal it was taken from.
'Should make it doable.' He guessed. With a lot of effort he managed to roll Broms body on it, so he could just drag the blanket smooth side down across the ground.
Mikael could get help. Someone would surely like to repay this great man by honoring him with a burial. But he had other plans. He wanted to make this alone, despite how stupid it seemed to others.
After a short breather, grabbing the corners of the hide, he managed to tow Brom bit by bit, and in 15 minutes he stood by the hole, just a couple of meters away.
Despite that Mikaels lungs hurt, his arms protested.
The last step, putting the body in the hole was the hardest part.
'Then it's really over.' he realised. 'Never being able to see him again.'
Another couple minutes later, just standing still, he let out a deep sigh.
"Goodbye Father. I hope you don't mind if I take something of you as a memento."
He grabbed down to the belt his father wore, taking the carving knife Brom used since then every single day, making many miscellaneous things.
Even before, this was something he valued very much.
'It is really badly made.' Mikael thought.
The knife was a bit bend, not completely straight. It had a chip in the blade part, making it looked damaged.
Poor sharpening lead to a bad cutting edge. So it had to be sharpened quite often.
The wood was smooth, but only from constant use. Before Mikael forgot to sand down the wood, making it rough and unsuited to use.
'The first piece I forged with my father.'
Together with Brom giving instructions, he made this piece of some scrap metal and spare wood.
Then he was very disappointed by this result, as it had barely any resemblance to the work of his father. But Brom didn't say anything, just gave Mikael some coins, and said.
"I wanted you to make this, and am satisfied with it. You put a lot of effort and passion into it, so you earned your money."
It was his first self-earned money, and Mikael still liked to remember that day.
'You thaught me so much that I never really noticed.'
Silently standing there, he grabbed the shovel again, beginning to fill the grave with earth and covering Brom at his final resting place.
The hill probably had no name, in some god forgotten plot of land. There wasn't even a grave stone with some last words or anything other than the fresh pile of dirt.
Mikael closed his eyes, not thinking or waiting, just accepting this moment.
He carried his tired and dirty body towards the hut, laying down on his bed and drifting almost immediately into a dreamless sleep.
The next day, Mikael woke up, promptly remembered by his body how much he strained himself last night.
His back, arms, legs and hands hurt so much he nearly cried out loud from pain. But that pain was nothing what came after the renewed realization of his deceased father.
He did not even know what to feel; fear, lost, left alone, anger, sorrow or what not.
But he also knew that his emotions would not be useful at all. He knew his fathers condition was the result of the bandits raid, but what could he do.
Alone, weak and nothing but a speck of dust. So he just accepted, and vowed to move on, trying not to dwell on the past, but move towards the present.
First thing, he got up, took some of the leftover vegetables which already began to sprout.
Cooking them up distracted him a bit, and his stomach was also crying.
As sad as he was, he needed food, too.
He took the self-made tableware made by his father and gulped down the food. It warmed him up quite a bit, and filled him with energy again.
He bandaged his hands with a cloth he cut down from an old shirt, as Didi often said to wrap up wounds as soon as possible.
He didn't really know why, but she would know better than him.
Speaking of Didi, as a friend of his father, she would like to know of his passing.
He took his bag, put the knife taken from Brom inside.
When he left the house, he ignored some passing people, all of them were once quite close to Brom, but not of the sort of Didi, which he had also some good relations with.
After a short time, he knocked at the doorframe, calling Didi:" Aunt Didi, it's me! Are you here?"
'Like last time.' He thought, walking inside and peeping around the corner. But she was apparently outside the house. Some neatly put blankets showed she left quite early, as the fire used to cook also was died down.
He looked left and right, his sight landing on the papers and hide scrolls.
Mikael couldn't read, but the statement Didi made last time made him to grow interested into these.
'I shouldn't pry into other peoples things, but...' he didn't finish his thought, his feet already betraying the arousing emotions of doubt.
Taking one of the bundled hide papers, he firstly caressed the cover. It was very even and smooth, made from a common leather, but quite skillfully.
Taking a anticipating breath, he opened the book, throwing open a random page.
Greeting him was a drawing made from something black, like ink or coal. It showed a mushroom in a weird formed shape, growing under the roots of a tree trunk.
Some arrows described different parts of the fungus, and the right half of the page was covered by a dense text.
'Thats it? A picture book is worth her life?'
He shuffled to some other pages, but all showed just more pictures and text.
"That is a bit like a picture scroll for children." He remarked, remembering the Pictures shown by some street artist that made these with chalk and a board.
"You should get smacked for that remark, and then again by any person that values knowledge."
Twitching together faster than he could stop the heat rising to his head, he let fall down the book, just looking shocked at Didi that appeared like a ghost behind him.
'How does she scare me every time? Is she a magician.'
As if she heard his thought, she said:" You are just too distracted to notice my arrival. And," she said quite angry,:"if you let fall my books again, I make you regret that ten times over."
Hurriedly Mikael picked up the book, placing it back on the shelf.
"So, why did you come here?" Didi asked, already guessing the reason.
"Father, he... died last night, sleeping." He said, looking sad at his feet.
"I'm sorry." replied Didi in a pitying tone. "But at least he passed in peace, without any more pain than necessary. So did you use the tincture?"
Shaking his head, he still remembered his inner conflict, to use it or not.
But now, he was sure he did the right thing.
"And I don't regret it, it is good that he could go while sleeping, as you said."
Didi nodded at his words, agreeing with his reasoning.
"I think so, too. No one should play god one someone else, or decide in any way how one should die... at least not on loved ones."
Silence descended, and wanting to distract himself from his dim mood, Mikael thought of a different topic he could talk about with her.
"Can you tell me what's so important about these things?" he then came up, pointing his bandaged finger towards the shelf.
Didi's sight landed for a moment on his hands, but did not dig into it. Instead she began to explain the reason she got so angry and why these `things` were so valuable.
These are something that can alter the flow of destiny and carry on generations. Something that either is just scrap for some and gold in the hands of others."
Her words sparked interest inside Mikael. 'These pictures are really amazing then?' he wondered.
She continued:"This, my little boy, is knowledge!"
"Knowledge? Of what?" he asked confused.
"Knowledge of many things. Health, nature, poison. In the right, or wrong hands, these papers can work wonders."