What I am about to tell you happened a long time ago, though not as long as you’ve probably heard, and certainly not as long as the people in the story would have you believe. But, we’ll get to that soon enough. The business at hand concerns an overcoat, a pair of socks, and an inkwell which ran dry one sentence too soon.

The socks lay in the attic of a dusty house. Consumed as it was by the accumulated oddments of a lifetime, the attic was not entirely full— some inroads had been made by the occupant of the house. A small space had been cleared at the top of the stairs and the crushing tides forced back to make room for a small writing desk and a lamp. It was just outside this circle of light that the socks lay.

They were odd, to be sure, mis-matched in the extreme. One was elegant and red, made from an airy material that felt like sheepskin and flowing water to the touch. It was stitched with fine golden thread and images of the sun and moon paraded around it’s full extent. A small golden tassel trailed from the toe as well, though it seemed to have broken in the middle and lost whatever bauble it tethered. This noble sock lay gently on the lid of an old trunk. Its companion was a different story altogether. Shabby and grey, the other sock had seen hardship that the red one had never known. This grey one sagged and slumped, sewn roughly where the first holes had appeared and finally given up on when it became clear that the holes were winning the battle anyway. Its fibers were permanently matted from long journeys and bore the stains of many kinds of weather. This sock had traveled. Yet as an old man sat down at the desk, creaking as much as the stairs he had just climbed, he looked on the strange pair as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which, given what happened, perhaps it was.

———————————————

Johann split the last of the wood with a heavy stroke.

“Father!” he called. “I’m finished! Is there any dinner left?”

Johann’s father sighed. It was already dark out, long past when any respectable person should be out chopping firewood. Of course, with an expert time-waster like Johann, it was actually rather early.

“Yes, and cold as usual,” he said gruffly. “Get in here before you freeze.”