The child picked up the sepia photograph on the low table by the door. He studied the young face of the handsome man. He looked proud, clad in strange clothes with pieces of metal pinned to the breast of his robe. The child's brother came up beside him, looking down at the picture.

"What is it?" His brother touched the frame. "A painting or weaving?"

The other boy shrugged. "I don't know."

The young Edain woman entered into the home. The fierce wind outside had blown away the clouds. Removing the kerchief from her cropped hair, she spotted them in the corner with the picture. The boy realized that the man had the same eyes as the girl. She smiled gently and approached them.

"Mon père," she whispered, taking the picture from them and looking at it briefly before setting it down.

Though he did not understand her language, the child knew what she meant. Ada. His own father had been a king and his hair had been the same color as the girl's who had saved them in the woods.

"Père?" he ventured quietly, glancing back at the picture.

The same, sad smile graced the girl's face once more. She knelt before them, smoothing their long hair over their worn robes.

"Who is the man in the picture?" His brother whispered to him.

"Her father," the boy replied. "I think he's dead."

"Like ours."

The boys fell silent as the old woman who had wrapped them in blankets and fed them warm milk the night before entered the room. She eyed the three of them before walking over to the kitchen hearth and stirring the pot simmering there.

The boys gripped each other by the hand as the women spoke very quickly to each other. The chattering was nothing either of them had heard from the Eldar or Edain. Some of the words came from the throat harshly while others slid over the tongue like honey. It was terrifying and at the same time wildly intriguing. The old woman nodded towards the boys and spoke firmly. The girl pursed her lips. She turned to the children and held out both hands. Tentatively, they took her fingers, bright eyes wide on her face.

***

After bathing the boys in their copper tub by the roaring hearth, Delphine trimmed their long hair. The boys did not protest. They were too distracted by their surroundings. Though she despaired of having to cut their lustrous, black locks, Grandmother was right that it would only draw the wrong sort of attention. 

Delphine paused as she reached the jawline of the smaller boy. His ear was a strange shape, coming up to a point. She turned to his brother and found the same deformity. Such a unique, personal feature would have to be covered with hats.

"Ada..." One of the boys murmured, picking at his nails as he waited his turn to be groomed. "Père... ada..."

Delphine reached out to get his attention. The child looked at her thoughtfully. She nodded encouragingly. It sounded as though he was trying to understand her language. Delphine pointed to the window at the sleeping tom cat the boys had been playing with that morning.

"Cat," she said firmly as the animal stretched and yawned in the pool of sunlight. 

The boy's eyes flickered. "Cat... muron."

"Muron," Delphine repeated, the boys giggling at her clumsy repetition of the word.

The rest of the afternoon was spent repeating words. It was an activity the children soon excelled in at a rate Delphine had never seen in her years teaching at the local school. Since her resignation a few months earlier, she hadn't realized how much she missed teaching.

"You know, they cannot stay here," her grandmother said quietly after the boys had been put to bed. "If they are being hunted, it will only be a matter of time."

"What do you propose then, eh?" Delphine snapped, her tone out of character. "Don't you think I'm aware of that? Ten of my students went missing in a month. Ten. Turned in by their own teachers to the authorities. And why? Because they were Jewish... nothing more."

"That is our world now, girl." Her grandmother turned towards the kitchen table where Delphine sat. "It's best we be looking out for our own."

"Father didn't."

"Your father died in a flooded trench in 1917, choking on mustard gas."

"I won't stop fighting. It would make his death pointless." Delphine stood, staring directly at her grandmother. "I could not live with myself otherwise."

"You might not have to for very long if the soldiers catch us harboring Jewish children."

Delphine went silent. Her grandmother was tough love and a cooking spoon. However, she was also very sensible.

But part of her knew that these boys were something else... from somewhere else.

A mystery.

That same part knew that the twins were not Jewish and the soldiers would not be hunting for them. However, her pragmatic grandmother would never believe such a theory. Delphine would keep her suspicions to herself for now.

"You do not remember the first war," her grandmother said firmly. "These German, they are not like those. These are polite. If we keep to ourselves, ride out this occupation, all will be well."

Delphine wondered if her grandmother even put the Great War on par with what was happening now. Worse atrocities than those seen in the trenches of 1918 were on the horizon if something was not done to stop them. She bit her tongue. 

"Good night, grandmother."

Kissing her on the temple, she retreated to her room where the boys slept on her bed. She had resigned herself to the couch by the small fire place. The wind continued to blow hard, banging the naked branches of the almond tree against her window pane.

"Alagos."

Delphine turned to see the boys sitting up in bed, the quilt pulled up to their chins and eyes wide. She walked towards them.

"Wind storm... Alagos," she repeated, nodding towards the window and tucking them down into the feather mattress. "Sleep now."

***

As his brother drifted off into a waking dream, the child kept his eyes on the window. He was watching. Something turned his stomach in this place, as though the women were waiting for someone to appear and snatch them away. He and his brother both believed there was someone still hunting them.

So the child listening to the even breathing of his brother and the girl by the dying fire as he watched for monsters in the night.