"You grab logs, I'll start to cut a hole in the ice," Irene directed.
"Why do you always get to do the fun parts?" Arne asked, slightly pouting, reminding Irene that he was still young despite how much he had grown up.
She turned to her brother from where she was crouching and tying her saddlebag into a pack that could fit on her back while they traversed over the ice. A smug expression appeared on her face as she reached towards the strap that held one of the most important tools for ice fishing.
"I'm older," Irene insisted. "And I'm also the one who brought the right tools."
Her hand wrapped around the bearded axe, and she pulled it out triumphantly. There was no better way to cut through ice. Her father had lender it to her that morning.
