The first few days after the search, hunters were dispatched to find Orin.
No matter what hunter went, the results were always the same: nothing. He disappeared.
The village grew tense. Rumors and whispers were making their way through Frosthelm. And the Great Hall was at the center of it.
Entire days were spent there, hunters, citizens, and elders arguing, discussing, and fighting.
A week after Orin's disappearance, Thalos heard it: the Elders made their decision.
No one else would die looking for him, and the rescue was called off.
He never left his room. He would lay in bed, listening to the voices he could hear passing by.
If they were close enough, he would focus on them.
They would be talking about curses, the fairies, Orin. He could never hear the full conversation, but he heard enough to guess.
And his father has barely come home since then.
His days were spent in the hall.
Elara had come to check on him a few times. She could hear his mother answer the door and Elara's voice on the other side asking about him. He would always say he didn't want to talk to her.
He knew Garrick had come at least once. He was yelling at him through his window. Thalos shifted out of view and ignored him. He never came back after that.
Brynn never came.
His clothing still lay untouched by the door, covered in dried mud and blood. A few days ago he tried to reach for them. His hand hovered over his cloak, and he hesitated.
He had flashes of a giant hound mauling him, snapping his neck, and killing Him.
Visions of what could have happened to Orin. His hand fell away, he scuffled back, and he has never reached for them since.
The wind howled against his walls. The antlers' hum was present in his thoughts, and his body felt cold.
He pulled the furs over him and lay back in his bed, closing his eyes.
He wasn't sure how much time passed. A week? A month? He couldn't tell. He stopped caring when he heard his father come home one night. His parents were talking, and then Eryndor told his mother.
"Orin is to be presumed deceased."
His mother came to bring him food. She tried to talk to him a few times, but he ignored her. He didn't feel like talking about anything right now. He felt like he wanted to be left alone.
Then one day, someone came through the furs hanging from his doorway. He thought it was his mother again, but when he turned, he saw his father standing at the entrance of his room.
Eryndor didn't come in right away. He hesitated. His foot started to take a step, then it stopped. He found it strange. He had never seen his father unsure like he was now.
Eryndor stepped forward.
"You've been here a while," his tone was softer than usual.
Thalos never looked up. "I know."
There was a pause. "You're missing your lessons."
"I know."
Eryndor sighed and sat beside him on the edge of the bed.
"I lost men too."
Thalos remained silent.
"When I was younger," Eryndor began,
"I had a friend, Darin. Darin Wainfell. We started as rivals and ended as hunting partners. He was… nearly as strong as I was."
Thalos looked up. He saw a sadness behind his father's eyes he had never seen before.
"Five years before you were born, a disturbance was reported past the frozen lake. Darin and I went to investigate. A Frostluker broke through the ice. He pushed me out of the way. And I ran. But he was too far behind… he didn't make it."
Eryndor's gaze fell to the floor.
"To this day I have many regrets. What if I had turned sooner? I could have helped him."
Thalos had never heard any of his father's old stories before. He was fixated on it.
"What kind of person was he?"
Eryndor looked up, repeating Thalos's words with a small smile.
"He was the type of person who would fight a thousand Frostwolves to save a person he never knew. He was a real hero."
Thalos felt something that he hadn't felt in weeks. "Can you tell me more stories of you and Darin?"
His father chuckled softly. "I have plenty, but those will be for another day… Your mother has been waiting for you."
He slowly stood back up and walked out of the room. Thalos sat in silence after his father left. Something inside of him felt warmer. And for some reason he was feeling emotional.
He imagined epic battles between his father and Darin.
He envisioned heroic tales. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
He almost wanted to laugh, or cry? He couldn't tell his father had tried. The thought of it made something inside him feel less heavy.
He had tried to cheer him up, to talk to him. And for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like lying back down anymore.
He reached for his boots, he paused, but only for a moment, he fastened them tightly, and he threw on the cloak that wasn't covered in blood.
He didn't know what he was going to do next, but he wasn't staying in his room anymore.
Thalos stepped out of his doorway. He blinked a few times. The main area was brighter than his room, and it took him a moment to adjust.
When he did, he saw his mother sitting at the table, remitting holes in a tunic.
She looked up from her work and smiled at him.
"You're out,"
she gestured to the chair across from her.
"Thalos, sit."
He nodded, unsure of what to say, and slowly took a seat across from his mother.
The kitchen was warm, the fire crackling around him.
He missed it.
She didn't ask how he felt. She looked back down at the cloth she held in her hand, picked up a small wooden hook, and began knitting again.
After a long silence, she started.
"People like to say we're like puzzle pieces."
Pulling a thread through the hook.
Thalos looked up confused. "What?"
She waited to answer. Instead, she picked up the end of the cloth and ran the thread through it.
"People think we're meant to fit together perfectly."
She tightened the seam.
"That when we fall apart, all we need to do is find the right piece."
She put down the cloth and picked up another.
This one was worn, its edges were torn, and it was remitted dozens of times.
"But we're not made like that."
She pulled the thread through the worn fabric, then tightened a new stitch.
"We're more like these seams. On this fraying cloth."
She turned a seam toward Thalos.
"The more we live, the more we fray, and when we lose someone."
Her fingers pulled at the seam until it started unwinding.
"We come undone."
Thalos watched as the threads twisted and came apart.
"But,"
she continued, picking up another strand of thread.
"We have to stitch ourselves back together."
She put the hook and needle through the seam that unraveled and pulled the string through it.
"The stitchings never fade. They'll always be there, and they will always show."
She turned the fabric and ran her finger over the new seam.
"But they will hold."
She put the cloth down and grabbed another.
This one had multiple holes in it.
"One day, more seams will unravel, more will fray, and again, we stitch them back up."
Thalos clenched his fists and looked down at his hands.
"What if I can't?"
Liriel smiled softly.
"Thalos."
He looked up.
"A cloth can't stitch itself alone. It needs another person to mend the seams."
She lifted the hook and needle in both hands, showing them to Thalos.
"And maybe someone is in need of you to stitch them up too."
Thalos thought on his mother's words for a moment, and his eyes started to water.
"I should have stopped her."
He said it before he could stop himself.
"Brynn, she wasn't thinking. I knew she was going to the forest. I just didn't want to bel"
He cut himself off, shaking his head. His vision blurred.
"I should have said something, should have stopped their fight. I should have done something different!"
He felt a tear roll down his cheek. His mother didn't speak. She let him continue.
He sucked in a breath.
"I dragged Elara into this, and she got hurt because of me. I thought I made the right choice. I thought Father would have been able to fix everything."
His breath was uneven.
"I failed them all. I failed Orin. He is gone."
More tears started to fall as Thalos was revealing his regret.
And for the first time since he could remember, he was crying.
Liriel didn't say a word. Instead, she moved closer to him, reached out, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Within the crackling firelight of the main room…
Under the soft blue glow of the antlers…
And between the soft sounds of a young boy weeping, there sits Thalos…
A boy of Frosthelm.