"Ara, is that you?" Sigrid's voice cried from the great room.
"Yes, dear," Ara called back, "I've got bread for supper tonight."
She entered the great room just as the bargeman's youngest daughter, Tilda, rose from the floor and ran to greet her.
"Oh, good! Thank you, Ara!" Tilda cried, throwing her arms around Ara's waist and smiling up at her with her deep blue eyes.
The bargeman's son, Bain, looked up from his chair by the fireplace. "So that's why you've been skimming out in the docks."
"You don't have to do that," said Sigrid, the oldest daughter.
"I don't mind working a little extra to get treats for my family," Ara said with a grin, walking forward with Tilda still holding onto her waist.
"Can we eat it now?" Tilda asked excitedly.
Ara chuckled. "We have to wait for your father to come home, darling."
Tilda let go of Ara, shrugged, and smiled sweetly, "Alright."
"Your chores are finished?" Ara asked, "I want your da to be able to relax when he comes home."
"Yes," the children responded in unison.
"Good," Ara said, setting the bread basket down on the table, "Sigrid, Tilda, will you help me chop some meat and vegetables? And Bain, will you please fetch us some water for the soup?"
"Yes, ma'am," Bain said tiredly.
"Thank you, son," Ara said as she and the girls crowded into the tiny kitchen.
"What kind of bread did you get us, Ara? Is it sweet bread?" Asked Tilda, tapping some celery with a knife but not doing much cutting
"It is," Ara said, grinning as she and Sigrid began chopping the other vegetables and the rabbit meat, "the sweetest bread in Laketown."
Bain returned with the pot of water, which he hung over the fireplace.
"Ooh! Did you hear that, Bain?" Tilda cried, "The bread that Ara bought us is the sweet kind! My favorite!"
Sigrid took over Tilda's celery and chopped it quickly and Ara placed the vegetables and meat into the water and salted it. It was nothing glamorous, but it kept the family fed.
"I see you made some more progress on that net, Bain," Ara said, eyeing the tangle of black cords hanging in the corner, "It looks good. You've done a fine job."
"Thank you, ma'am," Bain said, settling down on a stool next to the fire, "It's not as good as the ones Da makes."
"Well," Ara said, "Your father's been making nets since he was your age. He's had a lot of practice. You're catching up quickly."
Bain gave her a small grin.
Sigrid went across the room, grabbed her knitting and brought it back to her own stool. "Ara, look," she said, "I can't figure out how to curve around the thumb for these mittens I'm making for Tilda."
"Those are for me?" Tilda asked, sitting on stool next to her sister.
"Let's see," Ara said, also sitting next to Sigrid.
She examined the beginnings of a pair of blue mittens. "These are beautiful. Just make short rows along here…" she pointed.
The front door opened and closed, letting in a short blast of cold air and a tall, grim yet handsome man with black hair, neatly trimmed facial hair, fair skin and tired brown eyes. On his left shoulder, he carried a coil of thick rope. His brown coat had yet another new tear that must've happened just today.
Bard the bargeman had returned. He dropped his length of rope next to the door and let out a sigh.