The previous morning...
Auden woke to the familiar weight of someone draped across his arm and another set of tiny feet pressed against his ribs. It took him a moment to untangle whose limbs belonged to whom.
Bram, the youngest, had crawled into his bed sometime during the night and was now snoring softly, arm flung across his father's chest like he was trying to anchor him. Lysa had fallen asleep at the foot of the mattress while reading again, hair spilling over her face, one hand still holding the book open.
Auden lay there for a moment in the gray dawn, just breathing. The air smelled faintly of ash and the herbs Lysa tucked beneath the pillows to keep bad dreams away. Bram drooled onto his shirt. Lysa twitched in her sleep.
He wished he could stay like this.
Auden slowly shifted out from beneath Bram without waking him. He tucked a blanket around the boy and gently removed the book from Lysa's limp fingers. She murmured something but didn't stir fully.
He went outside.
The sky above the village was a washed-out slate blue, the early light struggling to warm the cracked ground. The Dry Lands of Sonderveld stretched to the horizon - brittle grasses, patchwork fields, the skeletons of old trees half swallowed by dust. The village itself was essentially no more than a dozen sagging houses.
Auden inhaled deeply, tasting the morning; the dryness of dust, something sharp on the wind like iron. He forced himself not to think of why it smelt that way.
He carried a bucket to the well at the center of the village. Old Kasa was already there, leaning on his cane and staring off into the distance.
"Morning Auden," Kasa said without looking at him.
"Morning," Auden echoed.
"You're up early."
"The sun's late."
"Tch." The old man spat. "Everything's late these days."
Auden drew water and started toward home. Halfway there he slowed - one of the shutters on his house hung crooked. He made a mental note to fix it later. Little things like that added up quickly; one day you ignored the wind rattling a shutter, the next day you woke to find the whole frame torn off.
Inside, Bram was awake and standing on a stool, reaching unsuccessfully for something on their single shelf.
"Down," Auden said.
"I wasn't doing anything," Bram lied, already climbing down.
Lysa sat at the table, rubbing sleep from one eye. "He was doing something," she said without looking up. Bram glared at her. "I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"Well, I am!"
Auden handed him a heel of dried bread. Bram devoured it in two bites and looked immediately disappointed that it was gone. Lysa pushed half her portion toward him without comment. He accepted it without a thank-you, to which Lysa also made no comment, meaning she would almost certainly bring it up in a list of grievances sometime in the near future.
"He eats like a starving dog," she muttered.
"He's growing," Auden said.
"He's growing into a starving dog."
Auden snorted. "Then we'll get him a collar."
Bram took no notice.
Auden was unable to fully wipe the smile from his face. Moments like these felt precious. They were precious. The world was harsh and strange enough; he'd do anything to keep this small pocket of normal intact for as long as he could.
Bram devoured the extra bread, crumbs scattering across the table and sticking to his cheeks. Lysa watched him with a tight smirk before returning to her own breakfast, eating slowly. Auden watched them both. Two mouths to feed. Two reasons to walk back out into the wasteland every day, no matter how exhausted he was.
Bram looked up sharply. "Are you going out today?"
Auden hesitated.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"But you went yesterday," Lysa said.
"And the day before!" Bram added, wide-eyed.
"I know." Auden knelt so he could look them in the eye. "But we're low on a few things. I found a tin last week near the old watchtower. I think there might be more."
This was partly true.
But it was harder to say that, if he didn't go out every day, he might miss the first signs of danger. The first signs of the Herd.
Lysa crossed her arms. "What things are we low on?"
"Cloth," Auden said. "Oil. Anything that burns. Maybe tools. Maybe food, if the land's kind."
This last part made Bram frown in confusion. "The land can't be kind."
Auden smiled. "It used to be."
He led them to the narrow shelf Bram had been scrambling at. Their possessions were few. A single cracked lantern; some dried moss for kindling; a small jar of oil with less than a night's worth left; a handful of herbs, brittle and nearly scentless; four knives, all dull; thread, a coil of rope, and, tucked carefully beneath a folded cloth, their remaining rations: two small tins, both dented.
Auden opened the cloth. The whole family held their breath as if expecting something miraculous.
He counted the tins again, even though he knew exactly how many there were.
"We need more," he said simply.
Lysa nodded.
Bram looked up at his father. "Will the land be kind today?"
Auden rested a hand on his shoulder. "I hope so."
The morning passed too quickly. Auden tried his best to mend a tear in Bram's cloak, while Lysa sorted the herbs into "usable" and "barely usable." Bram stacked pieces of firewood by size, tongue sticking out in concentration - well aware he was performing a very important job.
The world beyond their door felt distant and unreal. For a while, Auden let himself believe that this was enough.
There came a faint shudder beneath the earth.
Auden froze, needle halfway through cloth.
Lysa's head snapped up. Bram's eyes widened.
"Da," Lysa whispered. "Was that -"
"No," Auden said. "Not close."
But her eyes told him she wasn't convinced. Neither was he.
He swallowed. "It's all right."
Bram dove into his bed and covered his ears.
Lysa stood rigid, waiting for another tremor that didn't come.
Auden forced his voice steady. "It's nothing. Just the ground shifting. Happens all the time."
"But sometimes the ground shifts before - "
"Lysa."
She stopped.
Auden finished the cloak with shaking fingers. He hated how easily fear reached his children.
When he'd tightened the last knot, he said:
"I'll go out soon. I'll be quick."
Lysa looked as though she wanted to argue, but instead she nodded. "Don't go far."
Auden smiled at her - a weary, fatherly smile that hid everything it needed to hide. Or tried to, at least.
"I'll be back before you know it."
Bram climbed onto the bed and peered out of the window toward the horizon. "Can I come with you when I'm bigger?" he asked without turning around.
"No," Lysa answered immediately.
Auden gave her a look, but she shrugged unapologetically.
"You won't," she added. "You'll still be too scared."
"Lysa - "
""I'm not scared!" Bram whipped around, cheeks flushed.
"You cried last night because of the wind." Lysa said, folding her arms.
"I didn't cry!"
"You did."
"I didn't!"
Auden stepped closer. "Lysa, that's enough."
Lysa didn't argue, but she didn't soften either. Bram looked genuinely wounded. Auden held out a hand, and Bram rushed to it immediately, holding onto his fingers like they were the only stable thing in the world.
"When you're bigger," Auden said, choosing his words carefully, "you'll understand why it's safer to stay here."
Bram tilted his head up at him. "But you go."
Auden brushed a thumb across his son's cheek. "I'm old."
"You're not old."
"Old enough."
Lysa snorted. "Old enough to make stupid promises."
Auden sighed, losing his patience. Just like her mother. "What promises?"
"That you'll come back," she said, looking away. "Every time you say it like it's easy."
Bram tugged violently on Auden's hand. "He does come back!"
"For now," Lysa muttered.
"Lysa - "
"What?" she snapped. "It's true."
Bram shoved her. Not hard, but enough to shock both of them.
"Stop."
Lysa shoved him back, twice as hard. "Make me."
"Stop it, now."
Auden's voice was sharper than intended. His children both froze. Lysa's jaw clenched. Bram blinked hard. Both of them fought tears. Auden immediately regretted his tone.
"You two need each other," Auden said, softening. "Someday you'll understand that."
Lysa held his gaze, and the hardness dropped - not fully, but enough for the fear beneath to show through. Auden said nothing, and responded simply by placing his hand on top of his daughter's head. It was a gentle, grounding pressure she tolerated only because she was trying not to cry.
Auden refocused his attention to the job at hand.
"Come on then. I'll take you both to Timo's house. If I'm not back before the sun's down, you can sleep there."
Lysa wriggled out from under his hand and looked up at her father incredulously. "Not back before the sun -"
"Enough. Please."
Lysa's mouth pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue further. The fight had drained out of both children, leaving only a raw quiet hanging between them.
Bram wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, pretending he hadn't been crying. "Do we have to go to Timo's?" he asked, voice small.
"Just while I'm gone."
"But Timo snores."
"He does," Auden agreed. "Loud enough to shake the rafters."
Bram smiled a little. Lysa didn't.
Auden straightened, rolling his shoulders back. He felt older than he ever let them see. "Get your cloaks. We'll leave soon."