The stillness of the room leaves the noise inside my head running amok.
It all died out by the time my father spoke.
"We're home."
Warmer air entered my lungs. It's the intimate scent of home.
Out of habit, I opened my mouth so say "We're home.".
The warmth of a smile radiates through the empty blindness.
"Welcome home."
Mother.
My vision was restored to let me see the murky room I am so familiar with. Everything was dancing to the tone of a candle's flame.
Emerging from the extents of darkness, something hugs me tightly, as if it wouldn't ever want to let go of me.
"Brother!"
The caring voice makes my lips form a smile.
"Sophia."
I raise my arms to hug my sister, who doesn't quite reach my chin.
Sparks light up the chamber for a passing moment.
Past another two clicks, the hearth was hosting a growing fire, lightening the room. The wet wood crackles.
I let go of my sister.
My thirst exhorts me to drink water.
It was only at the moment I reached for the cup I noticed I was still holding onto the knife. My gaze was set upon it. I was handed down this knife. I need to take care of it. Only for the moment, I will leave it on the table.
I feel the cold water settling inside my stomach.
Turning my head around, I see my father putting down the rucksack.
"Only two this time." He speaks with disappointment before letting out a sigh.
Telling from her look, mother is worried. She watches father take out the two trouts we brought home today. Although they are not much larger than my palm, boiling them would suffice us for two days.
"We are going again tomorrow." says my father.
"No."
The short answer of my mother made my father's head turn to gaze up at her.
"It's too dangerous." she continues.
My father stands up. Having mother look up at him now, he speaks.
"This isn't enough."
"Hasn't such been enough many times over this winter?" she responds.
Father's authority intensifies by the moment of silence. "Too many times. Your skin has grown thin."
Mother is wordless.
"I want to bring home more, so we won't have to worry about food." he goes on. "Hopefully, we may hang some to dry."
"Then, at least don't take Daedal with you!" mother snaps at him.
They watch each other in the eye in silence. The crackle of the fire has diminished.
Keeping composure, father speaks slowly but stressed. "He is a man. I need to teach him to survive. I want him to grow to be reliable." he accentuates "Nobody wants a man who is but strong." His authority over her rises.
At that moment, mother was no longer looking him in the eyes, but rather her eyes were pointed to her left. She was watching my direction but not quite at me, just about staring at the wall.
Father turns to his left and crouches. The fire has almost run out, partially smoking. He shoves some woodchips in to get the fire going again before placing two logs inside the fireplace and closing the little hatch.
In the meantime, mother was getting a big metal pot ready with water.
The spirits have calmed.
I take my sit on the margin of the bed. To my right, the water is heating up on the stove. To my left, at the table, while father is cutting up the fishes, mother is taking vegetables out of the barrel. She takes out some olives, some carrots, and some cabbage, slicing them all into tiny pieces. Although barrelled vegetables aren't as tasty as fresh ones, these salt-packed greens are the best we can have over winter. Only onions stay edible through winter without any processing. The recipe usually contains tomatoes and mushrooms too, but we are out of pickled tomatoes and mushrooms can't be found when it is snowing.
As the water reaches a boil, they put all the ingredients into it at once.
Come to think of it, where is my sister?
"Sophia! Put that down!" urges mother.
I hear the ring of a metal object dropped onto the wooden floor.
Revealing from behind the fireplace, Sophia rushes past me and throws herself onto the bed.
Mother dashes to where my sister came from, picking up something from the floor.
My knife!
Realizing this, I stood up. Mother sheathed it and stared at it.
"I am sorry!" I said in an instant.
"Is this yours?" asks mother as she turns my gaze to me.
Father takes it from mother's hand. "Yes, I gave it to him."
He approaches me. The whole house is shaking at each of his steps.
Blood inside my veins quickens and stops at the same time. My fingers tickle.
Father's open hand stood in front of my eyes.
I stare at the knife he is holding.
"Take it now." He speaks with a deep voice that I can feel in my chest.
I grip it tightly and bring it to my chest.
"Don't ever leave it like that. Have some responsibility."
Out of breath, I simply nod, my eyes opened wide.
Father rises his gaze above my head.
I look back.
Behind me, mother was caring for Sophia, who was crying. "Sorry! Sorry!"
Mother says "I am not mad." and strokes the little girl's back.
Having her head tucked underneath a pillow, my sister pulls it out and looks at mother. Mother brushes her tears away and strokes her auburn hair. She turns her gaze to me first, and then to father.
Her worried voice says "Don't be so careless." and after a pause "Both of you.".
"I apologize." I voice. "I did not think there was a problem in leaving it on the table. It won't happen again." I lower my face to the ground.
Something is pressing against my back – it's my father's hand.
"Nothing happened. Give more thought to it next time."
"Understood" I respond to father.
Tension lessens, but a sense of guilt remains stuck in my throat.
Having an hour or so pass, spirits had died out. As did the fire.
In the meantime father taught me to tie the knife to my belt.
The soup is ready by now. It pounds heavy clouds as it is being poured into bowls.
In front of me, sitting closest to the door, my father waits for us to begin eating before he does. He always does this.
To my right, Sophia, and to his left, mother, already blow in their spoons to cool the soup enough to eat.
I too, take a spoon full of soup and stare at it. The smell hits hard, just as always.
I affix my gaze to the candle lighting the table.
I eat as though I want my insides to boil away. This way I take no second to taste.
Have I always been so detesting of this taste?
Seconds after I had finished, the taste snuck inside my mouth. "Thank you for the meal!" I speak with my palms pressed against each other.
I reach to grab a cup of water. It cools off my insides.
"Do you want more?" asks my mother, pointing at the pot of soup.
"I thank you deeply, but I am full!" I reply in the very same second.
Mother's gaze returns to her bowl, but a gentle smile shows on her face. I think she knows I don't like soup.
Crawling myself into bed, I cover myself with the blanket. Only moments later, Sophia appears to my right.
Minutes later, after washing the dishes, mother laid down to my left. Before coming to bed, father lights up another fire in the hearth and snuffs out the candle.
Our arrangement at night, in bed, seems to be the same as the one at the table; except, here Sophia is the farthest from the door. That is, because my headstrong sister had a funny thought one time and I was obliged to switch places with her to make her crying stop.
The stillness of the air drags me into the dark of sleep.
At night, hours still feel like hours, but pass like seconds clinging from one another.
Some sounds do escape into my sleep.
Crackles have been nagging me for some time now.
My eyes open to the dimly lit roof. The window on the roof leads my sight to a sky not quite black.
I lift myself on my elbows to see my father placing more wood into the hearth.
After closing the trap, he turns around and spots me.
"Oh, good thing you are awake." he whispers. "It's about time we leave."
Caring not to wake mother and Sophia up, I crawl out of bed.
"Have something to eat before we leave."
I pour some soup into a bowl. "You should have some too."
My word goes unnoticed. Father is packing the rucksack.
I can no longer ignore the taste of the soup, now that it has cooled down, but I can put up with it.
Even though it didn't take me long – in fact, I believe I couldn't have been faster – by the time I was done with washing the dishes the sky was already a dark shade of grey, much different from the nearly black from before.
Getting dressed with my surprisingly warm jacket, which I hung yesterday just before dinner, I only have to put on the boots. These are not the best, but they will do their job just fine until summer.
With father waiting for me with his rucksack on his back, I understand the need to hurry.
Father opens the door to let me out first.
"Take care!" I hear from behind us.
Sophia was awake. I whisper, more to myself "We will.", and leave the house.
Father closes the door behind him. The door only has a handle on the inside.
The scent of ash is in the air.
I have almost forgotten.