› Duncan and Isla Learmonth lived a calm, measured and mostly solitary life. Trading the fish they caught served the only occasion for socialization with other human beings. The fact that their only son was born on the first day of the year already had to be magical, but magic did not and could not exist, so it was luck. They did not believe into concepts of supernatural, but somehow ended up believing the concept of luck was okay. The birth of their son was the most abnormal thing that happened to them.
› The boy was normal, sturdy, healthy and also calm and measured. A perfect boy for parents like Duncan and Isla. His mother and father were the kindest people he had ever met, and he met few. School was discarded in favour of homeschooling, mainly because it was something between ultra-tiresome and completely devastating to cross the waters and drive every day just to sit straight and absorb the indoctrination. Mrs Learmonth was a former teacher, so there was almost no discussion about how Archibald would be educated. The boy was not particularly bright. Some things were absorbed smoother, and some did not digest well at all. But Isla never stuffed any knowledge down his throat forcefully, she just let him passively grow up to it in his own pace.
› It was Duncan, his father, he spent most part of the day, helping and learning the intricate art and craft of fishing. The house was pretty much free of their tools, as Isla insisted, but sometimes she was still stumbling upon floats and bobbers. It was mainly the workshop on the other side of the house that served as the place where 'magic' happened. Nets, dry and wet, hanging everywhere — thick and thin, rolled in a basket. Hooks of various sizes, coils of twine, lead sinkers, harpoons, knives. A lot of small boxes, full of lures and baits. Barrels, buckets, woven baskets, crates, sacks with salt, coolers and ice chests. One part of the workshop was specifically dedicated to the drying racks for the fish, and the source of the extraordinary odour that filled the room and a certain area around. One of the tables was the working table for dealing with the fish, while the other was a cartographer's corner with maps, charts, journals, compasses and barometers. Calmer days were meant for spending in the sea, while turbulent ones provided a great opportunity to spend in a warm workshop, planning and learning.
› Another year has passed, they have just had Christmas and New Year, and then traditionally and slowly merging into the birthday of their son, Archibald Learmonth. Who turned 11 just yesterday. They did not have many visitors apart from Isla's parents from time to time, and on holidays. But this year they spent it wholly alone, just the three of them. And what they did not expect was the knocking on the door in the middle of their lunch. In the middle of an isolated island.
› As it was statistically impossible to have friendly beings visiting just on the second day of the year, Duncan instinctively jumped to grab the rifle from the wall behind the table. Lochie, their dog, instantly woke up from his slumber, prepared and alert, but Duncan pointed him to stay in place and keep silence.
› "Name yersel, intruder! Whoever ye are, ye're no expected!"
› "Name yourself, intruder! Whoever you are, you are not expected!"
