The goats grazed free on the southern ridge of the Mark, bathed in a rain of autumn sunshine. Sunshine tired but warm enough for the men to still wear light clothing. Gobel trudged up the slope, on all fours, intent on reaching the Walk of the Vespas, which went around the Colt farm and reached the village. From there you could enjoy the view over half the valley and keep every movement of the flock under control.
"It's getting late" Katia yelled at him, sitting on the fence below, a few steps from her little sister. "We have to go back to the stables." A flock of crows rose from the woods, disturbed by Gobel, finally reaching the path.
The little red-cheeked Isik was gathering daisies in the low meadows. She was wrapped in a soft shawl, made by her grandmother who always waited alone in the house for the return of her two granddaughters.
"Gobel, let's go" Hildemar called, rubbing his full beard. He had been the goat herder for over ten years and was passing on the accumulated knowledge to his newly-adolescent brother. One day Gobel would be skilled enough to carry the burden of the family arts, despite his obvious difficulties.
Not far away, on the rocky ledge in front of the path, the Kaiser brothers, Alan and Rolf, appeared, accompanied by the old village woodcutter. With the sleeves of his heavy shirt rolled up above the elbows, Johan was now in his sixties: yet his muscles were still swollen and sculpted like those of the two young Kaisers, who hadn't seen as many winters together as he had.
The girls turned to greet them briskly. Katia had a fondness for Rolf's platinum blonde hair, falling over a square man's face. Their families had never looked favorably upon each other, but it didn't seem to make any difference to her, just as the hands already full of calluses or the resin-red stains that stained his clothes did not matter.
The three men had their backs loaded with firewood, destined for the inn. The winds had been whipping from the north for a few weeks, anticipating the freezing weather. It was going to be a cold winter. Soon the mountain passes would be made impassable by the first snow and the village would be isolated until spring.
"Katia!" Alan yelled to be heard. "Wait for us at the gallows!" He should have descended towards the valley, taking the walk below to the crossroads to meet the sweet niece of the shoemaker. He had not yet understood that her eyes were only for his brother, while he, with that flattened nose and wide mouth, could at best arouse a friendly sympathy in the few girls of the village.
"Come on, Isik." Katia took her little sister by the hand and frolicked on the lawn.
A tired exchange between Hildemar and Johan gave the Kaiser brothers time to join the girls. Katia must have been sixteen, seventeen at the most, while her little sister was barely reaching six. Alan and Rolf had known them for over a year now, ever since they had come from the nearby valley to keep their grandmother company. The old woman was now deaf and almost completely blind. Some village women had offered to take care of her, thinking she was alone in the world before the two granddaughters made their blessed appearance.
"Have you had a good harvest?" Katia began, with her eyes on Rolf.
"We've been busy" his brother retorted. The bundles of wood looked very heavy.
"Old Johan turned our flanks to cut locust trees. We stocked up "Rolf confirmed.
"Do you need wood? Or your grandmother? " Alan tried to make himself interesting in the eyes of the beautiful girl of the same age. He lavished himself in every kindness, hoping to take off the cloak of indifference that had been sewn on him.
Isik, holding Katia's hand, brought his face to Rolf's trousers. He smelled oddly the red stains on her clothes. Then he licked.
"Isik! It's not done" her sister resumed.
"Don't worry, no problem" Rolf replied with a smile.
Katia wiped Isik's small mouth with her finger. "Are you hurt? Is that blood?"
"Yes, it's blood, but it's not mine. I'm fine, don't worry."
The trio of Johan, Hildemar, and his brother Gobel joined them at the gallows. Their faces were dark as if they were discussing something extremely serious. Gobel, the youngest, stared at his feet.
"Here we go." Hildemar tapped the stick on the back of the nearest goat. The whole flock began to follow him, on his way to the stable, as evening fell.