The evening was spent laughing and remembering fond memories spent in Björn's childhood. Eating a delicious home cooked meal that his mother and sister has spent a great deal of time preparing. Taunting and teasing his sister, bringing her temper to the surface with his and their fathers incessant picking.
The family clung to the dining table, telling each other of the tales that the others had missed. Months had gone by and things were bound to occur in their lives, so stories had to be shared. It wasn't until the moon had begun to rise high in the night sky that they abandoned the table, everyone working together to clean their plates and store the foods away.
The twins played together like he and Astrid did when they were younger, chasing each other through the house and out into the gardens. Distracted by the simplest of things, like the light of the fireflies that hovered just above the blades of grass. By the howls of wolves in the distance, packs moving on to new land to hunt down their next meal. The cries of male elks seeking the companionship of a female. The buzzing and chirping of the cicada. Secluded so far up the mountain, surrounded by nothing but wilderness.
Björn continued to tease his sister about her lifemate, one by title and nothing else as their parents had squandered any attempt to officialize their partnership. Her cheeks were ablaze for half the evening, and he could guarantee himself that he was bound to have bruised shoulders from her numerous punches.
Raynar and Gala continued to chase each other, torment each other, and involve their parents in their amusing squabbles. Though like all children, even little dragons get tired. Björn carried the twins to the second story floor with his father, up the wide staircase and into their room fit with two beds. Despite there being enough space for both to slumber on their own, Gala insisted on snuggling up next to her brother who held her close.
They constantly fought with one another, though no one could deny their love for one another. Watching his parents tend to their youngest children brought a smile to his face. Listening to them tell Raynor and Gala the same tales he and Astrid had heard as children. There were many fond memories of being lulled to sleep by their voices. The twins drifted off in warm beds, sheltered from the cool temperatures outside. The glistening moon peering in at them through the closed window.
Eskil tucked the hand stitched blanket around them while Libelle blew out the candles in the room, then placed a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads. It wasn't long after the youngest children went to sleep that Astrid excused herself and retreated to her room, the room furthest from their parents. A smart decision in choosing that one. His parents followed suit shortly after, his mother leading his father down the hallway by a gentle grasp of his hand. The expression on her face was all too familiar and he felt he was in for a late night as well, except, not for the most glorious of reasons.
He walked down the stairs and into the now dark kitchen. Finding the wooden ladle beside a basin of fresh water, he gulped down several mouthfuls until his stomach felt once again satiated, though the piece of salted beef was too much to resist and he snagged that as well. Nibbling on its tough edges, he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking out into the large living area fit with luxurious furniture and animal skin rugs. The home he'd grown up in had barely changed, each item within its walls held some sort of memory to him.
In all the time he'd spend away, things would change locations throughout the house, yet the one room he'd know would be constant would be his own. Björn would lay in his bed staring at his ceiling, finding himself lost in thought very frequently. It would always remain exactly how he'd left it, and his feather stuffed mattress seemed to be calling his name at the very moment.
He swallowed the last bit of meat and ventured back up the stairs, avoiding the seemingly random steps that always creaked. Spots he'd trained to memory for when he'd sneak in and out of the house late on summer nights. He turned down the hallway towards his room, seeing a dim light creep from beneath the door of his parents room. Ignoring the candle light, he turned to his bedroom and pushed open the door while reaching for the thick wax candle beside the door.
Snorting like a dragon might, a puff of heat passed through his nostrils and ignited the dusty wick of the candle. The small flame maintained a steady blue for a moment before the golden glow illuminated a small corner of the room. Björn stepped around the room and ignited the remaining candles throughout it, bringing light from the floorboards to the ceiling. He placed the thick candle on the desk across from the doorway, his back turned to his bed that was centered in the room. Piles of paper were stacked messily all over the desk, as well as journals and books collected during his visits to town.
Books that littered his desk did not compare to the number that filled his shelves, each wooden board designated to their tales. He picked up a worn novel that was on the floor and placed it gently in between two other old books. He walked to the dual pane windows and drew back the curtains, allowing the moonlight to flow into the room. The soft white hue of the moonlight glistened across his floorboards, the new light source diminishing the need for just a few of the candles.
More stacks of books littered the corners of his rooms, as did large dressers and armoires filled with countless articles of clothing. Though the piece of furniture that meant the most to him at this moment… was the one torn to shreds?