Nothing good happens at the south wall, you think, as you lean the back of your head against the house.
The hushed noises of your siblings making themselves ready at the table carry through the wall, as do the smells of whatever concoction is being set before them. A blessing in disguise, to let them brave her dinner first tonight; if any of them survive then you can be confident for once 'tis safe to fill your plate.
Your father clears his throat as he comes slowly into view. He carries a thin cane, worn with years of use.
Somewhat to your surprise, he stands in front of you with the cane rather than behind. You look at his unreadable face for a long moment, then flinch involuntarily as he raises the cane—only to watch him snap it across his knee.
"You missed," you offer.
Onward