Hazel and Gretchen sat at the table while their father turned over a slab of venison on an old cast-iron griddle. Gretchen leaned forward with her arms crossed over the table, while Hazel leaned back with his own crossed over his chest.
They were both in trouble, and they both knew it.
"Now—" Their father spoke, with a deep grumbling voice. Hazel wondered if his voice would sound the same when he got older too. "Why don't you two explain to me again what you were doing out there."
"We saw a beehive." Gretchen said, gesturing slightly with her hands. "So we figured that we could get It and bring back the honeycomb. It went bad and we ended up running into a grimm. That's all."
"Hazel?" Their father looked at him, as he always did when he was looking for a confirmation that he was being told the truth. Hazel only nodded and looked down at the table, embarrassed.
Hearing it out loud, it was amazing how stupid of a decision he and Gretchen had made in trying to get the hive.
The man let out a breath. "And the two of you are meaning to tell me that you fought off a grimm on your own." He turned toward them, the venison briefly forgotten. "With only my bow to defend yourselves with."
"We were out of arrows, actually." Gretchen said. "We ran out when we shot down the beehive—"
"How many did you take?" Their father growled.
"It was only four!" Gretchen cried. "The point is. We shot down the beehive, then we had to run from the bees, and we ran into the grimm at the pond."
"Hazel?"
"it's true." Hazel confirmed. "It was… a turtle. Bigger than the two of us put together."
"And how did you escape it?" Their father asked, still seeing holes in the story. Holes that Hazel wasn't entirely sure he would be capable of explaining. He and Gretchen had managed to talk about what had happened a little bit, but it seemed like she didn't quite have a good recollection of everything that had happened.
He looked at Hazel directly.
"Gretchen did." Hazel answered, his grip tightening on his own arms. How was he even supposed to explain it? How could he. "I… don't know how to explain it."
"Right." Gretchen followed up, her eyes widening a little bit. "It was… weird."
"It could have been your semblance activating." Their father suggested. "It's not uncommon for it to be brought on by intense stress." He let out a sigh, turning so that he could flip over the venison on the griddle once more. "What was it like?"
"A tornado." Hazel said. "And it was… cold."
The room went dead silent. Their father shot him a look.
"Hazel." He said, his voice serious. "I'd like to speak to your sister alone."
"But—"
"Alone, Hazel."
And with no other option, Hazel got up and left the cabin. He went outside. He sat out there in the night until their father came out with a plate of dinner for him.
He still wasn't allowed in for two more hours.
Whatever they were talking about, it was serious.
Hazel just wished that he was allowed to know what was going on, just the same as everyone else in his family did.
What was so wrong with him that he couldn't hear what his sister did?
Had he made some sort of mistake?
He didn't know.