"They aren't buried here anyway."

Nerion's voice was nearly drowned under the other sounds of the evening. There was the crunching of ice and snow under their boots, the occasional roar of the cars on the road that was too close to the cemetery, the rustling of their winter clothes.

Small sounds that bothered nobody else in this world.

“I know.” Her voice felt feeble against Nerion's accusation.

His silence felt more pointed than any words he could have said, and Quir could hear the questions in her mind. So why are we here? Why are you here? What is the point of this? Are you stupid?

There was no point in replying to any of them, because Nerion would have been here with her regardless of her answers.

Not that she had any answers.

On any other day she would not have minded just staying home, but today was not any other day. It would have felt weird to not do this before having a Christmas dinner.

Most of the gravestones were decorated with flowers and candles, but the memorial site for those buried elsewhere only had a couple of half-buried candles. Quir crouched down and took out two candles and a lighter.

“Let me,” Nerion sighed and crouched down next to her when she was struggling with the hooded lids. His fingers easily opened the candles.

Quir tensed when his eyes landed on her, then on the lighter.

“Let me.” His palm was open and cold when Quir placed the lighter there. She straightened and took a couple of steps back when he lit the candles, a small, unceremonious event. No flashing lights, no fireworks, no explosions.

Just two candles at a gravesite that had no names.

Nerion slipped the hoods over the candles to protect them from snow, straightened, dusted the snow off from his knees and tossed the lighter to her. Quir fumbled and did not catch it. She was certain that years ago, at least one of them would have laughed at her.

It would soon be three years since they moved here, and things showed no sign of changing.

She was waiting for something to change.

They walked back in silence through the restless neighborhood Nerion called home. The apartment was filled with the warm scent of Christmas foods: casseroles, a small ham, some fish, fruit, two pieces of Christmas cake.

The cemetery had not brought the tears out, but the scent of food did it. Quir had to bite the inside of her cheek to not cry, because she could almost hear two voices, happy, laughing, calling over to them.

Our little girl.

Nerion might toss her out if she started crying.

The terrible part about sitting down to the kitchen after they had set the table and taken all the foods out of the oven was that she could not remember anything about her childhood Christmas meals or days.

She remembered they had been happy days. Happy, exciting, but what had stuck to her were vague impressions, not exact details. She remembered a fruit basket they had on one Christmas, the enormous pineapple with sharp leaves she had marveled upon but had not dared to eat.

She remembered what her father looked like, what his voice sounded like, but was starting to lose the memory of her mother. A part of her hoped Nerion might have pictures of them stashed somewhere, something that would not have gotten lost or tossed during their move.

As far as she did not directly ask, she could harbour the hope.

Celor might have had pictures as well, but both of them had their own reasons to not want to bother him more than necessary.

Nerion's reason was that he thought everyone expected a favour in return. They had needed Celor to be able to move here, and it had been a lot, and after that Nerion had sworn to never ask Celor for anything else again.

I already owe him so much for what he did. If I ask for anything else, I'll never be able to repay him.

Quir's reasons were more complicated. She knew Celor had a more difficult relationship towards Nerion; she knew Celor's ex-wife had not wanted to take in Nerion after their parents had died, but she would have been alright with just Quir; Celor had taken her side; Celor had become one of those people who would have separated them...

“I'm not going to eat all of this by myself,” Nerion grumbled at how little she took on her plate. Quir felt her ears flicking and smiled sheepishly, then took more.

The habit of not eating everythnig available still lingered from the first year, even when now they could afford food. Even when now everything was okay.

She took the first bite and immediately felt her eyes well up with tears.

“I made it with mom's recipe.” Nerion's voice was steady and firm, his eyes firmly on his own plate. His chewing was firm, methodical, and his eyes were blank and tearless.

“It's good.” Quir started to eat faster to be able to swallow her tears down with the food. It was not a lie. It was good, and it was exactly how she had wanted it.

“Merry Christmas, Dragontracks.”

Nerion's voice was not merry. Quir looked at him, the way his profile reflected from the dim kitchen window, and poured him a glass of red wine.

“Merry Christmas, Sparky.” She handed the glass over, then filled her own. They touched the edges of the glasses gently, the soft chiming sound echoing in the kitchen and in Quir's ears.

Without their parents, this was now all the family they would have on Christmas going forward from here. It had been the same for the two previous years, and it would be the same in the future.

Eventually, Nerion would start bringing Cail, Quir was sure of it.

Who would she bring?