We Are Our Stories

Leanne looked on at her husband, trying to see a hint of the weariness that he surely must feel. But there, on his weathered face and in the stubbled set of his jaw, only joy and relief. He was thinner, but then again Adam had never been a heavy man, being borne to leaner southern parents with their dark curls and deep blue-grey eyes. The years had been kind to him; besides from the light grey that swept back from his temples and the slight stoop to his shoulders, his movements were still propelled by the vigour of youth. A sharp nose and a thin mouth gave him a slightly hawkish appearance, one that his son had inherited. His daughters, on the other hand, were fashioned after the image of their northern-borne mother, with light and fair feathers, golden curls and full rosy mouths. They all stood rather tall for their age, though the twins still retained the rotundness of infanthood.

But what Mia might have lacked in physical likeliness to her father, she more than made up for in every other aspect. Lively, quick of eye, keen and easily excitable, she had been a difficult child to keep out of trouble. Jun had always been more silent in comparison, quietly looking on at the playfulness of his sisters, ever ready to intercede in their foolish behaviour. Balanced and serious, Leanne would not know how she would have raised her daughters without him. They twins seemed to have taken after their elder sister more so than either of their parents. The three girls were always together, on one adventure or another, always finding themselves in the most impossible situations. Leanne still remembered vividly the time when they had failed to return home after dark, and the entire village had set out to look for them. It was eventually Jun who had found them trapped in the hollow of a tree they had managed to squirm into, far out on the edge of their isle. Whenever they had gotten lost, it was only ever Jun who could find them. Jun was the one that kept Leanne together when Adam was away.

But finally, Jun could take a break from reining in his sisters, now that they were together again. A stiffness that Leanne had not noticed in her shoulders began to melt away at the sight of Adam sitting in his old oaken chair, surrounded by their children. But with every reunion, so would there be the inevitability of another departure. No, no. Leanne pushed the thought into the darkest corner of her mind. She would allow herself this one perfect night, when the fire cracked merrily, the children were content to sit and stare at their father, and even the sheeting rain seemed to have lightened to a gentle, happy tapping against the window panes.

‘What have you brought us this time Father?’

‘What was Vincidane like? Did you see any snow? Magic? Dragons?’

‘Were there really flowers everywhere? Even in the winter snow?

‘Were there knights there? Ones with white horses? And shining shields?’

Adam laughed easily at their eagerness, and drew them closer to him. This was his favoured part of his travels, watching their eyes light up as he recalled what was to them, the wondrous and infinite world beyond their little village. He drew from his satchel a package carefully wrapped in oil cloth and bound with strong hemp chords while the children danced excitedly around him. The chord snapped with an expectant twang under the sharp of the knife; the children leaned in. the oil cloth fell away to reveal an old wooden chest studded with metal bolts, clasped shut with leather buckles. It had the musty smell of dust and mothballs.