Khepri's Eternal Embrace

Irenka Nowakowski had left her laundry hanging to check in on the baking. She was gone for just a moment.

That's how these things always start, she thought to herself, even as she and Jacob from down the way were forcing open the Frost baby's mouth. Jacob said something inappropriately appropriate as he wedged his hands between emerging baby teeth the size of walnuts.

Both had come at the sound of Sorina giving a horrible screech. The source of her screaming seemed to be the sight of her brother's head wedged inside the Frost baby's jaw. Irenka had suspected something of this nature might happen for several weeks. Brimir had been almost fixated on the boy's head for some time. No one knew if it was the shape, the texture, the soft whispy hair and pliant flesh surrounding a hard target... In any event Brimir had decided on a favorite chew toy. Lucky for everyone Nicolae came from a sturdy people.

Kacper immediately commissioned a wooden "Teether Nicolae" to be carved. It was common in Brimir's native Niflheim to give small logs or tree trunks to teething babies to gnaw on. Mr. Nowakowski suggested that perhaps the local wood had some analgesic effect. Mrs. Nowakowski suggested that maybe logs were simply in front of them and easy to reach in a hurry.

Beside the River Make For You a Tunnel of Green Gloom

Granta had not minded her renaming terribly. Sometime before Alba was born, the family moved. The family name changed, at least that's what Alba had always presumed when Aunt Holda told her, "We all got new names back then, I guess it just happens over time."
Her mother, she was told, was normally placid, sweet ... Frau Holda would describe her as a gentle soul whenever Alba asked. She chose her moments if circumstances demanded though, and little may have withstood the tides of her mood when it turned dark.
"She had a bit of a falling out with your uncle Ogma, you know..." Holda told her. "He was a brash one. Always wanted tribute, Ogma did. He was about showing off. A bit of a silver tongued braggart, really. That wasn't your mother's style. She didn't make waves. She was like water on a stone. Quiet. Resolute. Inevitable. Oh he'd make a right mess of things, but you'd enjoy hearing him do it."
"What made them argue?" Alba asked her.
Holda looked intently at the dough as she kneaded, powdering it and preparing it to be rolled out.
"They didn't agree about our place in the world," Holda said. "He was too old-country. He refused to leave it behind. Simple as that really."

Alba didn't recall much about her mother. She said as much.
"I remember her smell," she said, "but I probably couldn't describe it. I remember how much she liked living by the river with father." Alba looked at her hands, wondering if they bore any resemblance at all. "The way she used to look at me and Bérénice," Alba recalled, "It would make me feel so loved."

"Well," Holda said, putting the rolling pin down and cutting Alba a corner of the dough to eat, "I'd say if you remember that then you remember her as she'd have wanted."

Alba chewed and they both watched The New Boy - who had been busy in a corner for the last half hour in an elaborate game composed of yarn and what he described as Alba's invisible puppy. He looked up suddenly as if just remembering an important errand, "Can I have a cookie?" Holda agreed and went to the cupboard.
While she was away the New Boy told Alba, "She's nice and I like her. She helps you when you need it. She's my friend." Alba nodded and gave a small, polite noise - which is what she had taken to doing whenever The New Boy would declare things in his odd manner. She could hardly be faulted, as she had no way of knowing that he wasn't talking about Frau Holda anyway.