Once upon a time, there was a man who wanted nothing more than to have a child. His name was Brunsten. From the moment he was born, Brunsten had a gentle air about him. As a babe, he hardly ever cried, only desiring to tenderly curl his small fingers around the cloth of his mother's dress. This gentle manner followed him through his life, and the people in his village came to adore his steady nature.

Brunsten understood his calling to provide for others when his parents had their second child and gave Brunsten a beautiful younger brother, Vallentin. Enamored with the fragile little life, Brunsten swore to his family that he would protect and guide his little brother as best he could.

When their father would go out into the fields to harvest the rye, Brunsten would be there beside him, chubby little fingers clumsily working to support his family. When his mother decided to wean Vallentin, Brunsten learned how to mix grain and water to make a meal fit for an infant. On and on, Brunsten learned every task he could to care for the young child.

Despite the six years between them, Brunsten and Vallentin grew to be best friends, with Brunsten teaching his younger brother everything he could, from fun games to play indoors when it's cold to how to find the best trees to climb in the spring.

Vallentin grew to be a strong, confident young man under Brunsten’s watchful eye. He was known as the far bolder and more spirited of the two brothers. His brightness often overtook the gentle Brunsten, but the older brother rejoiced in his younger brother’s social success in the village.

Eventually, the two brothers grew and overtook their mother and their aged father. While Brunsten was content to continue supporting his family in their village, Vallentin was set on striking out and making his fortune. While the impending departure broke Brunsten’s heart, he still packed his brother’s bag with care. He made sure to include good bread and cheese and to perfectly fold his best clothes.

One bright spring morning, Vallentin waved goodbye to his family and walked out of the village without looking back. Brunsten stood at the fence post, one hand resting on the rough wood, and watched until he could no longer see any trace of his younger brother. He stood there as the sun rose high in the sky. He stood there as the sun sank low below the treeline. He stood there as the earth began to cool in the glow of twilight. And he stood there until the stars came out, and his mother took him by the hand and led him to the hearth in their home.

As the seasons passed, Brunsten continued to help his parents manage. Sowing crops, mending fences, harvesting grain. But, he was listless. His parents watched as his features aged beyond his years with the grief of missing his brother. While still perfectly gentle and dependable, many people in their community simply could not stand to be near his melancholy. Even his own father couldn’t seem to take it, passing away.

A few years passed in a drudgery of loneliness and routine before Vallentin returned home to his family in a ruckus of beating horse hooves and dust from wagon wheels. Vallentin came rumbling down the dirt path with the reins of two tall horses in hand. Brunsten couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched his brother bounce up and down in the high wagon seat as he came down the road. He seemed so much broader than he was before.

The wagon slowed to a stop in front of Brunsten, and Vallentin swung himself down to hug the shocked Brunsten. Indeed, the younger brother was stronger and had come to outgrow Brunsten. Vallentin pulls away to look at Brunsten. In fact, Vallentin had to look down, which made Brunsten wonder if he had shrunk during Vallentin’s time away.

Brunsten watched as Vallentin gave one of the large draft horses a pat on the nose before swinging around to the back of the wagon. Brunsten’s mother comes out of their small house, hands holding her skirt out of the muddy path, joy in her face to have her youngest child back in her arms.

Vallentin holds his hand out, and his brother watches as a slender hand takes it and an equally svelte woman glides out of the wagon. Brunsten has never seen a more radiant woman in his life. She was dressed finely and moved with a trained grace. She reaches into the wagon and grasps an ornate wicker basket, causing Vallentin to beam just as radiantly.

“Mother, Brun,” he greets, “I have someone here for you to meet.”

From within the basket, a small babble floats over to Brunsten. He moves forward, enchanted, and peers into the basket. A small, chubby face looks back at him. Tears well in his eyes as he reaches in, and the small child wraps a hand around one of his thick fingers. The infant’s eyes hold the same bubbly wonder at life that Vallentin had and still has.

The family comes together, with two new members around the small hearth in their family home. Vallentin weeps as he learns about the passing of his father, and he thanks Brunsten profusely for staying here with their parents.

Soon they move on to lighter topics as Vallentin regales them with his adventures he has had since leaving home. It seems he has done everything from driving out thieves and outlaws to hunting down evil witches. Especially riveting is the tale of how he won his wife’s hand in marriage by being the first suitor to solve her father’s puzzle.

All in all, it seems Vallentin has done quite well for himself without them in Brunsten’s mind.

Vallentin and his new family stay for some weeks, with Vallentin using his newfound wealth to help fix up his mother’s farm. Brunsten rejoices in having his best friend home and is more than happy to help his nephew in the same ways he helped Vallentin. However, Brunsten’s newfound joy would come to an end as Vallentin packs their wagon back up, ready to head for his estate.

Watching his brother leave once more, Brunsten quickly comes to realize that there is something he wants for himself, and that is a child of his own. He confides this to his mother, and she smiles happily, bustling about and getting ready to visit their village matchmaker. Brunsten meets many women and finds a fair number of them perfectly agreeable, but he has very little to offer, having not made a fortune like Vallentin. His mother urges him to continue searching because he can still marry for love despite his poorer standing.

However, Brunsten quickly begins to realize that he is not sure if he can love another person in the intimate way romance requires. He comes to know this about himself as he sits on a hill overlooking the rye growing in his field. He watches the growing stalks sway gently in the breeze. This is when he realizes he is meant to be alone. His mother is growing old, and there may be no way for him to ever have a child.

Time continues to pass, and Brunsten begins to grow old with genuine age. From time to time, he would receive word of the magnificent deeds of his brother Vallentin and smile gently at them. He would often walk into the village and perform his own humble deeds for those around him. Carrying heavy things. Mending wagons, fences, and all manner of objects. Watching young children for tired young mothers.

Soon he found himself completely alone when his mother passed away in her sleep.

Once more as a man halfway through his life, body rough-hewn with hard work and hard times, he sits up on the hill looking out at all he has in the world. His crops are healthy, and his home, while small, is well cared for. He knows that this is where he would die and that he would be dying alone. Yet, he makes one last plea. Addressed to nothing. Everything. Anything that would listen. He clasps his hands tightly together and holds them close to his chest, callouses scraping against one another as he bows his head and closes his eyes, sodded earth depressing as he gets on his knees.

“Please, give me someone to hold and care for, just until the day I die,” he whispers out into the air.

A breeze stirs and ruffles his hair, combing lightly through the dark locks. His eyes, stung by the cool air, watered and dripped with tears. He nearly jumps when a cool hand traces his jaw and a thumb brushes away his tears. He looks up, and in the water clouding his eyes is the shape of a woman outlined by the edges of his own tears and draped in a fine fabric of wispy clouds, as if she wasn’t really there. Brunsten reaches out to take hold of her outstretched hand when inexplicably a weight weighs them down. Blinking some tears away, he looks down and watches tears splash into the palms of his hands and get blown in circles by the breeze. The weight in his arms grows heavier as the water in his eyes, the wind in the air, and the clouds in the sky take a solid form. Once the weight is that of a few apples, the form of a plump toddler stirs before him. A little girl blinks up at him, draped in a silky white cloth that flutters and slips across his skin like water. Her eyes are a deep brown just like his, but her hair is long, wispy, and white like the clouds that gave her to Brunsten.

Brunsten’s eyes water once more, and he overflows with tears. He holds the beautiful little girl to his chest as he cries out in joy. He doesn’t know who granted him this boon, but he knows that it is something that he will protect and guide with as much love as he can give.