In the low-lying Alps of the Skjellfjall
mountains, the slope was shallow but long. Summer grass lay cut and drying in the warm air, the scent of hay thick around them. Aron leaned forward as he climbed, a huge bundle of hay pressing into his back. He huffed and puffed, sweat soaking through his shirt, streaking down his arms.
He stopped. Several paces below, Garon struggled to lift his awkward bundle of hay.
"C'mon! It's going to be dark if you keep walking like that!" Aron shouted.
Garon was drenched in sweat from head to toe. He looked up at his brother, then bent down to lift the hay, arms trembling as he struggled to hoist it onto his back.
Aron shook his head and turned, continuing up the slope.
The room was warm with firelight. Their mother sat near the hearth, needles clicking softly as she knitted, the flames casting long shadows across the walls. Aron and Garon ate in silence, the scrape of wood on clay loud in the small space.
"Your father will be leaving for the capital tomorrow morning," their mother said at last, without looking up.
"Garon, you'll be herding from tomorrow."
Garon froze.
"No," he said immediately.
Aron looked up, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
"I won't," Garon added, shaking his head.
"I won't do it."
Their mother lifted her gaze then, fixing him with a look sharp enough to cut.
"Are you arguing with me?"
Garon looked away. "Why don't you tell Aron to do it?"
Aron scoffed. "I've been herding sheep since spring began, lah."
Garon's face twisted. "I've done it before."
"So what?" Aron cut in. "It's your turn to herd the sheep now."
"It's always me!" Garon yelled, his voice breaking. "Last year I herded all summer!"
Their mother opened her mouth, but Aron spoke first.
"That's a lie," he snapped. "You always ran off with John and Thomas and left Henry to do the herding like he can"
"Yes he can, and he does it better than you!"
"He's a dog, you dumb cunt!"
"Watch your mouth, Aron!" their mother shouted.
"L-last year, I herded the s-sheep! All summer! And i'm not lying!" Tears spilled down Garon's red cheeks.
"Shut up. Don't cry." Aron murmured, turning away.
Silence fell hard.
Their mother stood, crossed the room, and pulled Garon into her chest.
"You insufferable boy," she muttered at Aron, her eyes hard at him as she held Garon while he sobbed.
In the evening, Aron stood with his friends beneath a tall pine tree.
"He always gets angry when i call him dumb cunt. And he runs off to play instead of herding the sheep," Aron let out a deep breath.
"We lost two because of him. And somehow, I'm the one who gets blamed."
"What?" his tall, black-haired friend snorted. "Beat his arse if he does it again."
The shorter boy with brown hair laughed. "That's nothing. Richard lost six sheep yesterday."
Aron blinked. "Six sheeps? That cunt lost six fucking sheeps?"
He burst out laughing, and the others joined him, their laughter echoing along the dirt roads of Windor.
A group of girls came up the path from the valley, arms full of dried clothes. Their chatter and laughter carried over the slope.
"There she comes, Aron," one of his friends said, nudging him lightly.
Aron's laughter caught in his throat. His eyes slid down the path, and there she was, a blonde-haired girl, walking a few paces behind the others, head tilted down with a soft smile.
Her clean, fine clothes stood out against the rough-spun dresses around her. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
He turned quickly to his friend, trying to hide his gaze.
"Do you see Mary?" he said, forcing a laugh.
"There she is," his friend replied, pointing to a short girl with brown hair, who was already scanning the slope.
"Where are you boys staring?" a girl called out suddenly, grinning as the others giggled.
Mary looked up, spotting them.
"Don't you have cows to bring back from the valley?"
"We've done all that already" Aron replied.
The girls reached the top of the slope and drew closer, their footsteps crunching on the gravel.
Mary squinted at the friend who had nudged Aron.
"Why is that married lad with you two?"
"He's here to look for a new wife" the brown haired boy burst out laughing as Aron joined him.
"I'm not here to look at ugly girls," he shot back.
"Says the one with a crooked nose!" Mary retorted, and laughter cracked among the girls.
She glanced sideways, eyes flicking toward the blonde girl who had paused near a tree. "I bet Aron is here to see Jane," she said, teasing, her voice carrying as the others continued up the path.
"Im not!" Aron glanced at Jane. As his eyes fell on her, his cheeks turned red. In an instant, he turned around from her.
In the woods of Windor, a grassy dirt road ran between the hills and the darker stretch of forest, splitting the stream that gurgled quietly over the rocks.
Garon crouched near a tree, flicking a pebble into the water.
Where did the girl go? he thought.
"It's almost dark," he muttered to himself, then turned to Thomas.
"There's no Kelpie here."
"Let's go home. There's nothing," Thomas said, glancing at John, who sat crouched beneath a tree. The three of them rose.
John's eyes followed the stream, dark water sliding silently over the stones. "We should get closer. How can we see the Kelpie from here?"
"Are you mad?" Thomas snapped.
"Or scared?" John smirked.
"I'm not scared. We can come back tomorrow evening—that's all I'm saying."
Garon looked up at the sky, the clouds grayish, edged with soft orange from the evening sun.
"The Kelpie appears at dusk, in cloudy weather. And it's not going to rain tomorrow."
"My father will beat me if I get home late!" Thomas said, his voice cracking.
"C'mon, Garon. Leave him be," John said, already moving toward the stream.
Henry, stood behind Thomas, tail tucked and hackles raised, whining as he stared at the water, several paces away. The stream gurgled softly, unbothered.
Garon followed John out of the woods. They scanned the area, but the banks were empty, still, and quiet.
Slowly, they stripped down and waded into the water.
John dove in first, laughing as he swam farther out, dark hair slicked flat against his skull.
"Bet you can't swim to that rock and back," John called, nodding toward a mossy stone jutting from the middle of the stream.
"I won't go there," Garon said, treading water.
"Too far."
John grinned, ducked under, and resurfaced already halfway across. The water broke cleanly around his shoulders as he powered toward the rock.
Garon watched him reach it, then shouted toward the trees,
"Thomas! Come here! Don't worry, there are no Kelpies!" He laughed, then ducked under and swam deeper into the stream.
Thomas began cautiously walking toward the water, Henry at his heels, barking and baring his teeth.
"Shut up!"
Thomas snapped, waving him off. Henry ignored him, pacing at the edge of the woods, hackles raised, growls echoing between the trees.
John reached Garon, both of them now treading water, heads just above the surface. Silence fell, heavy and close.
"Where's that girl who was bathing here earlier?" Garon asked suddenly.
John stopped.
"I… I don't know."
"The one you mentioned," Garon pressed.
"You said you knew her."
"I didn't."
"You did"
"You said that was Mary."
"Mary?" John repeated, unease flickering across his face.
The stream lapped softly around their shoulders.
"You said it," Garon murmured.
John laughed nervously.
"What? No!"
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Slowly, John began swimming closer, eyes locked on Garon, his smile fading.
John lunged at Garon. Garon jerked back, laughing.
"Haha! You can't even touch me!"
John held his gaze, then slowly slipped beneath the water. Before Garon could turn, John burst up behind him and drove his head under.
How did he swim so fast? Garon thought to himself.
Garon thrashed, trying to pull free, but John's hand only shoved him down harder. "You—!" Garon laughed, the sound breaking apart into bubbles.
He reached back and grabbed John's wrist, pinching it the way he always did, waiting for the grip to loosen.
It didn't.
He tried harder this time. It still didn't move.
"Let me go!" he tried screaming, but the water drowned his voice. Again and again.
Garon stopped. His heart stilled for a moment.
Something cold spread through his chest.
He pinched harder again, nails digging in, teeth clenched. The water around them darkened, streaked red. John forced him lower, until the dim light above blurred and vanished and they were both fully submerged.
Garon clawed at John's hand, tried to wrench it away. His breath came in sharp, useless pulls. He kicked and struck him, but the water swallowed his movements, slowed him.
John's grip didn't change.
Thomas stepped slowly out of the woods, treading through the long grass.
His eyes caught on the clothes piled on the rocks near the stream. The water, at first glance, was still and calm.
As he lifted his head, he saw something.
In the deep waters, not far from him, stood a horse, half-submerged in the stream.
Its eyes were fixed on him. The water thrashed beneath it. The horse did not move.
Thomas turned and ran to the woods.