That was it, he’d done it. He’d broken his sister. His one last living relative, presuming the witch lived, and he’d gone and broken her. He was useless. A coward to boot. For all that he’d broken her he was not stepping one foot closer to her, not with his groin still on fire from a simple slip of the tongue. She’d likely rip them off and feed them to him if he dared to come within reach. 

Besides, there was the blond little girl of Vasily’s proving herself to be a braver soul than he. He watched as she climbed onto Oksana’s lap, his breath caught, ready to leap forward, no matter the danger to his manhood, if Oksana looked like she was going to do violence. She did not. He should have known better. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her watching the Vukašin’s. Was it the elder brother? The younger? Or the girl that now perched so recklessly on her lap? He was never certain which of the three it was she was watching with that intent, bright stare that said she was lost to all else but what she saw. That was why he’d been able to catch her all those times. But after the first time he learned not to speak up and ask what it was she was about. After the bruise had faded from that he’d learned to simply back away, slowly. 

After a stiff, awkward pause in which she howled and blubbered over the child Oksana seemed to collapse even further upon herself and her blood-smeared arms wrapped around the little girl and pulled her tight. It was very clear that Oksana was not well familiar with the art of hugging as she did so awkwardly. Oskar was not either if truth be told and he swallowed a lump in his throat. He wished more than anything that he knew how to give to his sister what the little girl was. He wished it was something Oksana would have accepted from him. But they were not that sort of family, were they? No, Papa had never been all that affectionate with them, touching them only when needed and as the years had passed and they’d grown more and more a disappointment to them he touched them even less. He bit his lip and wondered what magic the little girl had that she could hug Oksana and live. Or was it just that Oksana was as aching for touch as he and no one dared to approach? He supposed it didn’t matter, she wasn’t hurting the girl so he stood up and quietly slipped out of the tavern. He was useless in there and he couldn’t take another moment of the sounds of pain he’d wrought. Best he find a useful way to occupy his time. 

There were dead, it was his fault. The ground was too hard for graves to be dug and there would be too few hands left to dig them come spring thaw. That left them only one reasonable choice. It was Midwinter after all. They were to keep the fires going all the night long to keep the moon company and to guide the sun. Never mind that the Moon could not be seen behind the clouds that had come with the storm. The snow was slowing and the clouds were thinning. It would only be a little while before the thick crescent of the moon was visible and he didn’t need the light of the moon to work. There were plenty of torches to see by, plenty of bonfires already lit. 

Even more, there was plenty of firewood cut and stacked in anticipation of this night. With grim determination Oskar, accidental destroyer of Adishi, began to build its pyre.