He nodded, turning on his heel and trotting into the living room. Their house was small, with two rooms downstairs, and two rooms upstairs, either side of a short hallway. The lower floor had the kitchen and a living room- the latter of which only getting use when they had guests, which wasn’t very often- with the kitchen at the back of the house leading out into the garden, and the living room at the front, accessible through the front door. To one side of the living room there was a staircase, narrow and twisted at its end, that led up to the short corridor that led off to the two bedrooms: Eldred’s, and his mother’s. The outhouse stood at the very end of the garden, which was a long stretch of green mostly taken over by rectangular patches of earth in which they planted whatever vegetables they could manage. The remaining area was small, which led Eldred to spend most of his time away from the house, in fields or the woods where there was more space to run and play with his friends.

He moved through the living room now, taking a diagonal path to the base of the stairs, which he ascended two at a time. The floor above was made from warped wooden planks which creaked and seemed to bend under his feet as he stepped across the small space. His door was ajar, and he pushed through it into his small room. The upper floor of the cottage was smaller than the lower, the old thatched roof cutting into the space upstairs, and Eldred’s room was the smallest of the two that were up here. He liked it, though. He found its small size comforting, the low, sloped ceiling over his bed making the space feel cosy and warm. He glanced out of his window as he passed it, looking out onto their garden, and the town beyond. It was getting dark now, with pinpricks of light in the windows of some houses. His room was dim, but he was so used to the space that he didn’t need a candle. In the corner at the foot of the bed he had a small mirror- no bigger than both of his palms together- and beside that was a basin of water, just big enough for him to submerge his face if he so desired. He sat down in front of it, crossing his legs beneath him, and washed his face and hands. He could barely see himself in the last slivers of daylight, and was unsure if some patches of dirt were actually dirt or if they were shadow. Eldred looked at himself, sitting in the gloom and staring at what little of his face he could see. He sometimes wondered if the self he saw in the mirror was a true reflection, or if it were some creature looking back at him, and he had spent a few afternoons previously trying to catch it off guard, staring intently at the mirror or attempting to turn faster than whatever it was could mimic.

The fantasy did not entice him today, and not for the first time, he shoved the memories of the dog away and practised a nonchalant grin, although it was more for himself than for a show to his mother. He could barely even tell he was grinning as the light faded, the only hint the slight glint of his teeth.

“Eldred?” his mother called, her voice carrying through the small house with ease.

The boy scrambled to his feet. “Coming!” he called back, glancing at the small mirror one last time before he scurried back through the house, flying down the stairs to meet his mother in the kitchen once more. Two bowls sat on the table in their accustomed places, and he hurriedly pulled out his seat and sat, waiting for his mother in anticipation of a warm meal.

The food was as good as it always was, and Eldred basked in the comfort of his mother’s cooking. They spoke more over the table, his mother asking after his friends and telling him of some of the folk who had come into the small tailor’s shop she worked at over the course of the day. He elaborated more on the plans for their fort, describing in detail some of the logs and branches they had found and collected, as well as telling her about some of the clouds and other games they had played that day. She smiled as she listened, leaning forward on the table with her arms crossed.

When they had both finished, and he had helped his mother wash the bowls and pot, they both settled into their evening tasks. Eldred sat by the fire, poking around in the ash on the hearth, finding pieces of charcoal and scrawling across the hearthstones, drawing pictures in the black and white of the ash. His mother remained at the table, a lantern lit, as she continued her needlework, stitching the armscye of a cream shirt. Eldred didn’t quite understand how she did it; she’d showed him a few times, and have even encouraged him to attempt to patch some of his own clothes when she’d been too busy to do so herself, and he’d pricked his fingers during at least half of the stitches he’d completed, stitches which had been uneven and huge, with in one case a gap so big that he could fit one of his fingers between the two pieces of cloth. His mother’s stitching in contrast was so tightly woven that Eldred could hardly make out the individual stitches.

As his head started to dip from weariness, she tied off the thread and put the shirt down, folding it neatly onto the table. She stood, pushing onto her feet and brushing down her skirts so that they fell correctly. She watched him for a moment, his head resting against the warm stone of the fire which had burned down to glowing coals.

“Time for bed,” she said softly as she approached, her footsteps quiet on the flagstones. He stirred, mouth opening wide in a yawn, and stretched his arms out either side.

She offered him a hand, and helped pull him off the floor. Together they collected the lantern, his mother offering it to him to carry, and they moved through the otherwise dark house toward the stairs. He led the way, holding the light up for the both of them.

At the doors to their rooms she retrieved another light, lighting it from the lantern, and they went their separate ways to change into nightclothes.

He left his clothes on his chair, his folding very messily done compared to his mother’s careful handling of the shirt downstairs, leaving the torn trousers separate for her to patch in the future. The lantern he left beside his bed, clambering in under the covers.

A moment later he heard the soft knock on his door, and his mother entered. “Comfortable?” she asked, walking over to him and crouching at his bedside.

He nodded, trying to suppress another yawn.

She smiled at him again, brushing the hair from his face. “Have some sweet dreams, my little boy,” and she leaned down to kiss his forehead, looking into his face for a few moments longer before retreating, taking the lantern with her. She paused at the door, looking back at him in the darkness. “Sleep well, and I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quietly, and she shut the door, leaving his room in darkness.

Loud knocking roused him from his sleep, breaking through the fog of half-consciousness that was so often filled with strange and seemingly meaningful dreams. He cracked open an eye, taking in his bedroom with disinterest. His trousers from yesterday had gone, taken by his mother before he woke for their repairs. It was early morning- the sun had risen, but it wasn’t high in the sky. He burrowed a little deeper into his bedding against the chill, frowning as he tried to recall if he’d had any dreams. A few moments passed, accentuated by a set of heavy footsteps downstairs. He glanced to the floor, as though he could see through it into the living room below. Any potential dreams remained elusive, out of reach from his fumbling mind. Besides, his interest had been piqued by whoever it was that must have visited their home.

He hesitated, counting down from three as he psyched himself up for the chill that awaited him outside the blankets. On zero he tossed them from himself, shivering through his nightclothes, and hurried to the other side of his room. He collected his shirt and then rummaged around in his wardrobe for his other pair of trousers. The floor was freezing, and there was a draft moving across the floor that only amplified the chill. With the garments selected he ran back to his bed, jumping back into the warm spot he’d left only moments ago. He disliked autumn and winter for this very situation- the cold made it so much less enticing to leave the warmth of his bed. At least the bed was still warm, he thought to himself.

He changed beneath the shelter of his covers, lingering as his clothes warmed up to body temperature, and then, reluctantly, got out of bed for good. He folded his nightclothes, leaving them underneath his covers as he made the bed. He pulled on his shoes last, glad for another layer of insulation against the floor. Upstairs, the wooden floor got cold. Downstairs, in the mornings much of the heat had leached from the flagstones, leaving them freezing cold against his feet.

At the door he paused, catching the soft murmur of voices. The quieter one he resolved as his mother’s, her words too soft to hear through the door or floor. Their guest spoke louder, the cadence of their voice slow and steady. He lifted the latch of his door, hearing his mother’s voice suddenly raised. Surprise stayed his hand, and he stood frozen for a few moments. It was rare to hear his mother shouting. He pushed the door open, catching the tail end of a word before both voices went quiet. He moved cautiously across the landing, almost dreading what he would find down the stairs. He continued anyway, rounding the wall at the bottom to find a tall, armoured figure standing in the middle of his living room.

Eldred’s eyes went wide in surprise- he’d never seen armour before, although he’d heard lots about it from his friends and from other children in the town or from other neighbouring villages. The armour was dark in colour, closer in shade to tarnish than silver. It gleamed in the sunlight filtering in from the kitchen window, sharp edges catching light and reflecting it in lines and patterns across the living room walls. The figure’s helmet was on, eye-slit ominously dark. The top of the figure’s helmet reached less than an inch from the ceiling, easily dwarfing the boy. He took a step back, feeling uneasy.

“It’s alright, dear,” his mother said soothingly, any hint of her earlier volume melted into the soft tone she used. He pulled his eyes away from the figure and looked toward her. She didn’t seem worried or scared- if anything, he realised, she seemed annoyed. Her usual smile was strained, and she glanced at the figure with what he thought could be a warning look. “Come over to the kitchen, I’ll give you something for breakfast and lunch, and then you can go and find Cal and May early, okay?”

He perked up at the offer- usually Eldred would have to complete chores before he left for the day, cleaning some such surface, weeding the garden, or running into the town for an errand, or to once more look for work there. The latter never came up with anything, most of the other folk in the town were wary of their small family of two and were reluctant to have much of anything to do with Eldred. “Without chores?” he asked, hopefully. The armoured figure remained still and silent. They hadn’t even turned toward him, and if Eldred hadn’t heard talking earlier, he might have assumed it was empty, or a statue. He wasn’t even sure if they were breathing.

His mother raised an eyebrow, and some of her tension eased. “Without chores for now,” she clarified, “you can do them when you get back, later.”

He weighed this up, quickly deciding it was a worthwhile trade and skirting around the armoured figure to join his mother at the doorway. He looked back as she gathered the promised food, staring up at the armoured figure’s helmet, trying to discern some features behind the eye slit. “Who are you?” he asked after a moment, looking them up and down again. He was closer, here, and could see some of the intricate patterns engraved into the metal.

Eldred was almost surprised that the figure answered. “An old friend of your father’s,” the voice said. It was that of a woman’s, echoing from the depths of the helmet with an odd quality that Eldred couldn’t quite place. The oddness of her voice was quickly overshadowed by the content of her words as he deciphered them.

His eyes widened with sudden interest. “My dad’s?” Some of his reservations left him at the mention of his father- a man who had died shortly after Eldred had been born, and a subject that his mother usually refused to elaborate on or even mention. He had learnt quickly that the subject was a sore one, and after a few years of questions had stopped asking entirely, knowing the answer he would get. The prospect of finding out more sparked these questions once more- who had he been to make friends with such an imposing figure?

“Come on dear, this is grown up business,” his mother said from behind, gently turning him back to face her. The scowl on her face disappeared as she looked down at him, and he frowned. She passed him a small bag of sack cloth, hanging it over his head and across one shoulder. “Now, make sure you stay safe and try to avoid the brambles today, alright?” She put both hands on his shoulders, kneeling to look at him. “Come back before it starts to get dark today, please, and don’t forget your coat this time.” She gave him a meaningful look, nodding her head toward the pegs that held both of their coats.

He nodded, looking down at his feet, embarrassed to be treated as such with their visitor standing only a short distance away.

“Alright. Have a good time, I’ll see you later.” She gave him one last pat, straightening and gently pushing him toward the back door, turning back toward the figure in an almost defencive way.

Eldred frowned at the sight, giving the armoured figure one last curious look before he took his coat and left through the back door, shrugging it on as he stepped over the threshold.

As the door swung closed he caught a snippet of renewed conversation, his mother’s low, almost angry voice snapping the words “Even if they were trouble, there’s nothing-” before the clink of the latch caught and he was sealed off from inside.