The cabin was cold when they arrived. They made a fire, prepared dinner.
The fire had long since faded, its light replaced by the moon´s, when the son spoke:
”She smelled of summer and her eyes were laughter visualized. I lost my balance with her. I liked it.”
The moon grew stronger, the shadows deepened.
”Was I wrong?”
“To kill her?” The father was still as a statue.
”To love her.”
No answer, but the son felt at peace, as always in the cabin. Good thing his father had insisted they´d come here.
The moon watched them, insensate and fateful.