15 Foreyule, S.R. 1241

“Isen!” A sharp tug to the older lad’s curls had Isengrim sitting up with a yelp.

“What?” Isengrim rubbed his head, looking down into the mischievous green eyes of the newfaunt beside him. “Isum! Mama and Mari say no pulling!” Isumbras’ face fell.

“Isen an’ Mama mad with Isum?” The younger lad’s remorse was obvious; Isengrim hugged his brother tight.

“No, Isum! I won’t tell! No more pulling. Promise?”

Isumbard nodded firmly. “Promise,” he agreed.

This time, Isengrim helped Marigold dress and tidy his brother, wrapping him against the chill; he was old enough to aid little Isumbras now, not like he had been when Hildigard had nearedfaunthood. The thought made the lad pause, and he stroked his cheek, thinking of Hildi’s touch.

“Isen!”

Isengrim shook himself a little and turned his attention back to his surviving brother. “Yes, Isum! I’m sorry, I was just thinking.” He straightened Isumbras’ cap. “There, Isum! All ready.”

“Quite ready, my lambkins,” Mari agreed. “Shall we go?” The lads nodded.

So the two brothers set off on their quest. Heedless of the snow, Storm padded at the lads’ heels, while Sunshine trailed Marigold. Isumbras found pretty trinkets here and there to give to those he loved. Isengrim’s favourite was the bunch of holly twigs Isumbras picked (with Marigold’s help) to give to Papa. But as they walked through the snowy gardens, they stopped to pay respects at the small barrow in the centre of Adamanta’s memorial garden, covered over with flowers.

Isumbras removed one twig from the holly bunch, bright with berries, and lay it on the mound. “For Hildi.”

“For Hildi,” Isengrim echoed, and set down the bucket of Yule-snow Isum had gathered (for Adamanta) to hug his brother.

Isengrim would never let his first brother be forgotten.