Life is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...
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Weeks rolled on and days grew warmer. Snow slid from the rooftops and gathered into little puddles by the village streets, down which ran the cart in the dewy mornings, headed for the town, loaded with flowers fresh from the magical garden.
Alvar could now grow quite a few varieties of flowers besides the seasonal ones, and the seeds retained the enchantments he cast upon them. He was beginning to get the hang of it at last.
Managing the business was no easy task, for he was no good with numbers, but Aunt Elena helped him handle it. Her things were by now all unpacked, all settled in Gran's room upstairs, her clothes in Gran's old wardrobe. She'd fixed up the cracks in the roof, and helped repair the chimney. Every week, she would make some outlandish dish out of a strange cookbook from a foreign land beyond the sea, yet another treasure brought from her voyages. By an unspoken rule, Lars was invited to such homely meals--if he found the time to drop by. He had not missed a single one of these dinners so far.
After that, the two of them had made it their habit to go look at the Witch's Apple every night under the moonlight. Only a little sapling it was, but it grew with speed Alvar had seen in no other plant before. Though it would be long before the tree would bear fruit. The essence from a single leaf was enough to help Snatcher get better, who had warmed up to Alvar soon enough, despite their rocky start.
Their small house at the end of the lane was now a bit more cheerful and the fire in the hearth always burned bright.
Sometimes after dinner, when the tide was low, they'd walk back to Lars' place, where they took the boat out to the sea to catch shrimp. In those nights there wasn't much for Alvar to do, other than holding the green-glass lantern aloft while Lars prepared the traps, and did most of the shrimping part.
When at last they returned, their arms full, Marcella would be found asleep on the armchair. Snatcher dozed with his head lowered, upon the wooden perch Alvar had made for him. At least the raven actually used it, unlike Marcella, who preferred Alvar's old toolbox rather than the cosy little cot he made for her with tools from said box. So Lars now used it to prop up his broom, which he never swept the floor with.
