When the Boughs Break

[Serril Indaiyu]

The leering, lugubrious hill giant stood undaunted, his boastful laughter booming over the trees, scattering flocks of birds before him. He sneered with scabby lips stretched taught around yellowed teeth as the villagers groveled before him, his beady eyes filled with dark intent.

"FOOLY LITTLES, RUMBLEJAW TELL YOU
TWO OX AND TEN WHISKY BARRELS BRING
OR CATCH A LITTLE AND MAKE EM SING"

With another laugh, Rumblejaw's mighty hand began to close around Fair Maiden Daphne, who cried out "Please! Won't a hero come save us, in our hour of need?!"

And as the clouds appeared at their darkest, a wind blew true and parted way for the sun. The rays cast down, catching their light upon a figure cresting the hill. For a moment he sat upon his steed, taking command of the situation - a magnificent cataphract, clad in the very sun's own liquid radiance....

"What's a catatact?" Serril asked his sister Hana, breaking the scene as he clumsily tried to correct for the borrowed bonnet slipping from his mop of curly blonde hair. Behind him, a deer maintained an awkward pose with its head down, with the firbolg boy standing roughly between the antlers.


"Serril, you ruined it! And it's cataphract!" Hana sighed in frustration, her breath steaming in the late winter air as she put away a heavily-used storybook into her pack. "Down, Tut-Tut. Ombo, relax."

Tut-Tut, a giant badger, grunted and squatted prone, letting Hana slide off to the side. Ombo backed away, but not before chewing on Serril's hair.

"When do I get to be Sir Gadrey? Wait, Ombo, stop!"

"You can be Sir Gadrey, but you're getting rescued by Daphne the Fair, and I still get the sword." For emphasis, Hana brandished the well-whittled prop they had used for many such productions in the past.

"But why?"

"Cause I'm older and I'm bigger." Hana replied matter-of-factly, flourishing the wooden sword before resting the flat of the blade across her shoulders. "And I had to play Daphne when Tatva was playing Sir Gadrey, so you have to play Daphne with me. Whenever we get a new brother or sister, you can play the hero then."

It was a familiar refrain. Time and again, turned away on account of being the baby of the family. Serril sighed, and Hana retrieved her borrowed bonnet. In the distance, the low thrum of a horn sounded in the direction of the Grove. The call to supper.

"Okay Onbo, alright Tut-Tut, playtime's over." The two firbolg children each gave their animal playmates their due in the form of a few slices of sugar beet. Hana took Serril by the hand, and they began to beat the path back home.

[Serril Indaiyu]

Though the light in the Moonwood was waning, they could almost tell the way by feel, so sacred was the knowledge of places that children go to play. The pair crested a hill, and stood before a clearing dominated by two ancient live oaks, that had grown so massive that their canopies had long-since overlapped. In this space, dozens and dozens of lanterns held suspended with rope from branches with care, cast a comfortable illumination among a few dozen round lodges built of timber and mud thatch. Closer within, a crescent array of tables had begun to fill with other members of the Twinboughs Herd, filling the ambient sounds of evening with the pleasant sounds of greeting and conversation.

Serril ran ahead, now pulling his sister along behind as he carefully weaved between much larger aunts, third cousins, great grandparents, and the occasional no-relation. There were no assigned seats at the communal tables, so you never knew who you were going to be sitting with, but usually each household tried to eat together as a group. Serril and Hana paused as Gadroh Wannigan eased down to sit on the usual knotted root he tended to fancy, grunting as his knees protested all the way down to a sitting pose. Once there, the older Firbolg simply packed a heavy pipe and began to strum a banjo, which brought a few claps from all around.

"Always on time for supper call!" A familiar voice called from behind, as a hand scooped each child up with a brief yelp of surprise. That quickly turned to giggles, as Hana and Serril both wriggled around to face their father Guthir, who had wrangled his youngest children into an energetic hug.

"I'm sure you have plenty of tales of your thrilling heroics, but I'm afraid I have another heroic task for you. Have you seen your sisters?"

Hana and Serril shook their heads in unison. They'd been playing since helping with midday forage and their afternoon chores. That didn't completely stop Hana, however. She had a healthy fascination for gossip.

"Papa, I saw Jobi Ounay give Tatva a pretty scrimshaw antler. Does that make them boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Normally calm and unflappable, Guthir found his reply halting. Kids and the things they say.

"I think your mother might be the one to ask for that one." Guthir deflected with a laugh, depositing Tatva into his wife Kam's waiting hands.

"Two out of four children found!" He grinned, draping a hefty arm around Serril, who was already squirming out of his grip to see what was on the table itself.

"Wash your hands, children-of-mine." Kam never raised her voice, but she had long perfected that eldritch art of saying words in just the right tone to cause children to behave. It worked more than it didn't, and with a grumble in unison, both Serril and Hana excused themselves for the wash basin. Before the parents could enjoy a moment of peace, the other missing part of the family arrived.

"Well there you two are." Guthir looked to Tatva with a glimmer of mischief. "So what's this I'm hearing about Jobi Ounay and a scrimshawed antler, eh?"

Pink flushed instantly on Tatva's long ears, broad nose, and cheeks. "Hana!" She reached for her younger sister, and was plunked back in her seat by Sibi, the eldest of the Indaiyu children.

"Heeyyyy, no fightin' at the supper table." Tall, athletic, and favoring her mother, Sibi Indaiyu reached for one of the large family-style dishes at the table, hoisting it up to dredge the ladle for a portion for her own bowl. A thick orange porridge plopped in with the thump of the wooden spoon. Not one to mince food and conversation, Sibi regarded each of her kin, then tucked in, propping elbows on the table to enable the efficient movement of spoon from bowl to mouth and back again.

"Acorn porridge again?" Serril watched the communal bowl filled again with a top-off, visibly disappointed.

"Be thankful, kind-eyed son." Kam finished a spoon of her own portion. "Not everyone living outside our community sees winter's end with enough food to eat. Remember, we all work together so that none go without."

It was the first thing Serril had learned in this world, and it was the lesson that never ventured far from his heart. Every member of the Herd knew the stories handed down, of the joining of the tribes to become one community - one people. Everything was shared - from food and water to possessions and stories. Especially stories.

"What about outside the Herd? If people are going without, shouldn't we help them?"

"We do. Well, we help each other." Guthir crumbled a sage leaf into his porridge, mixing with his spoon for a few moments before taking a tentative bite. "Thats why the caravans come."

Instantly, the three younger Indaiyu children's eyes sparkled.

"The caravan's coming?"

"Is the snow off the pass?"

"When will they be here?"

"Will they have new books?"

"What about chocolate?"

"Children, children, please!" Guthir was more tickled than annoyed by the enthusiasm. "These are all great questions. Maybe save them for your sister for when she's..."

Eyes turned to Sibi, who had now reached for a crusty round of acorn bread, ripping it in half to serve as an edible scoop for her porridge. She came up for air, mindful for a pass with a napkin before addressing the mob.

"Probably a week from now. Pass is open, and we've been watching the way."

Serril adored the ground that Sibi walked on, and hung onto every one of her laconic words. Sibi caught his eyes, reached for the ladle, and piled another spoon of porridge into Serril's bowl.

"Eat. You want to go on patrols like me? You have to eat."

That lit a fire. Serril took a heaping bite of the porridge, less bothered by the sameness of it.
"Why do they meet you far away from home?" Serril talked with his mouth full, then thought better of it. "I want to meet caravan people."

"It's not safe." Sibi tore into another bite of acorn bread, reaching for a carafe of water before continuing. "You don't know those people, Serril. Not like the way you know family or the Herd. You don't know what they do, where they're from, or who or what they serve."

His mother continued as she added some honey to acorn tea. "Outsiders often don't share our respect and our concord with this wild space. Most wish only to take and take and take, but never give back. We must all be careful who we allow to traverse the wood. We trade what we need, for what they need, but only those who respect that balance."

Guthir fussed with a pepper mill before setting it aside, satisfied for now. "Remember when I told you about the covenant the families made with the Mother of Waters?"

Serril nodded.

"Well, in return for a place to grow and sustain our people, we were given an important task. And that's to guard this wild place we all love. So that's what your sister's doing. That's what me and your mom did before. And one day, that task will fall to you."

[Serril Indaiyu]

"And one day, that task will fall to you..."

The nights were steadily growing shorter, but still cast their pall early on. Everyone pitched in to help clean up after supper, and the few who had chores remaining hurried to tend to the tasks. A few generous hearts occasionally helped their fellow herdmates to double-time the work, so everyone could have a bit of leisure time before bed. About the only one who hadn't stopped working was old Gadroh Wannigan, still busy serenading the grove by banjo, but now with softer and lower folk lullabies. Occasionally he'd pause to pack his pipe again or to take a glug out of the clay jug of scrumpy resting against his belly. From the resonant sploonk of the scant remaining liquid pitching to the bottom of the jug after the last sip, there probably weren't many songs left in the evening.

With the hut's flap closed, the music took an even softer note, becoming pleasingly woollen and ambient, the banjo's plucks and twangs weaving into the occasional pop and spit from the waning log on the fire in the center of the room, the sound wrapping around the drowsy family within in tandem with a faint orange glowing warmth.

Serril couldn't sleep. It wasn't entirely Hana's fault, but she was still in the violence hours of sleep where she wormed and squirmed and kicked covers, blankets, and brothers alike until she either reached comfort or fell asleep trying. No, Serril knew he wasn't sleepy, even if he wasn't getting half-pushed off their modest mattress. He followed the orange fire light as it caught in reflection off the well-honed spearhead affixed to Sibi's weapon, his eyes following the spear's robust haft, itself hewn from the ancient wood of one of the twin oaks.

"I know what you're thinking."

Serril startled slightly with an inhale. Sibi lay on the mattress next to his, her green eyes catching some of the firelight. Only shorter than father by a few inches, Sibi had hilariously outgrown the mattress she used, which was sized for outlanders. Her knees extended past the mattress at the bottom, with her heels resting on the ground. Everything from the shoulders up was supported by a mound of haphazard pillows. Unlike cover-hoarding Tatva, Sibi barely bothered with a thin blanket, and the dancing fire light traced along the contours of her muscles.

"You do?"

Sibi gave her younger brother a flat expression, then shifted her weight to the right, patting the scant free space on her mattress a few times. The wordless message was clear - come lay down over here and keep your voice down. (You had to understand Sibi like that, half the things she said were without words.) Serril quietly untangled gangly arms and legs with Hana, who finished pushing him the rest of the way off their mattress. Serril quietly lay down beside his oldest sister, and they both looked at the motes of fire dancing on the spearhead, as the shadows licked and danced on the wall behind.

"You're wondering if it has a name."

Serril's eyes were like saucers. Everyone knew a little magic, but Sibi always seemed to be able to look right into people. Father called it In Sight, which didn't make sense for a spell name.

"Like Sir Gadrey's sword?" he breathed out in reverent whisper, suddenly realizing he was about to become custodian to hidden knowledge. Sibi's normally stern face eased into a smile. She squeezed Serril in a one-armed hug.

"Like Shadowrend."

"You read Gallant Tales of Yesteryear?" Serril gawked.

"It was my book to begin with" Sibi swallowed a chuckle, so that no sound came out, only a shake at her middle, "why do think it looks so ratty?"

Serril until now hadn't given much thought to Sibi having previously been a little girl. In his mind, she simply entered existence as she was now - big and strong and big.

"So what's it called? It must have a great name. It was papa's spear before it was yours?"

"Yup."

Serril's impatience was reaching the limits of being baited, and he sat up slightly.

"Sibi!"

A chorus of "SHHHH's" emerged from family around the hut. Guthir snorted, recycling his snore pattern. Sibi put a finger over her lip, pressed two fingers of her other hand into a boop against Serril's nose, then pulled him back to lie own beside her.

"Promise not to tell?"

"Mother of Waters my witness, honest plus a hundred."

Sibi milked the suspense as much as she dared. She tilted her head to give a whisper for her brother's ears only. His wondrous expression soon curdled into confusion, then disapproval.

"Wait, it's just called 'spear'?"

Sibi turned her head back to look at the wall.

"Yep."

"That's a *terrible* name."