Marcus Brody stared at Indiana almost blankly as the archaeologist paced back and forth in front of his desk. Indiana gesticulated wildly, a very recognizable gleam in his eye as he passionately recounted his reasoning around the origin of some seemingly magical amulet and the location of a demon monkey idol, both of which were somehow related to the machinations of a religious movement in Kenya. Marcus was beginning to struggle to keep his eyes focused as his brain thrummed against the sides of his skull.

"...So yeah, that's the long and short of it," Indiana said, much to the relief of the curator. Turning around to face Marcus, he asked a question he'd posed many, many times before: "So, can you take care of Anna while I'm gone?"

"I will be going back to England for a while," Marcus sighed, looking down to adjust the wings of his jacket as he finally straightened up, "I can take her with me then."

"Visiting family?" Indiana asked.

"Sort of," Marcus gave a half-hearted grimace, "The family estate, Indy. I am afraid I will need to sell it."

"Oh," Indiana's face fell, "...I'm sorry."

"Yes, well, I'm going to spend one last Christmas there while I make the preparations to put it up for sale. Sell the furniture, get all the heirlooms out, exhume the family from the private graveyard and move them somewhere I can continue to visit them," Marcus sighed, "All that wealth my father and grandfather built up, just turned to a bunch of useless paper stocks."

"I um-" Indiana stuttered, lowering his head slightly, "I hope I didn't-"

"No, no," Marcus interrupted, "It's my fault, doing all this... speculation. The money would have gone to waste either way," a shrug, "The only reason I choose to sell it now is because, otherwise, it's just going to sit around collecting debt. I wouldn't be able to pay the staff to maintain the property, the taxes would put me at a deficit... and slowly the house would just fall apart. I couldn't have that, I'd much rather it remain in good hands."

"Still, I'm sorry," Indiana muttered, voice low as he gave a hesitant shrug.

"How long will you be gone?" Marcus asked, reaching out to pick up a pen and play with it in his hands.

"Until February, at least," Indiana said.

Marcus frowned, "You're going to miss Christmas and her birthday. You know she hates that."

"I'll bring something back for her," Indiana said, too quickly and too nonchalantly.

Marcus sighed, mood far too low to argue with the other man. Twirling the pen in his right hand, he eventually just sighed and waved a hand dismissively, "Have fun in Kenya, Indy. Try not to get yourself killed."

"I'll try," Indiana offered lamely.

The money he would get from selling off the furniture and other items alone would put enough savings in his pocket to last him a good while, even with a relatively lavish lifestyle. Depending on how long it took for a buyer to grab the house, likely at below market value, Marcus had a good chance of not sweating too much about finances for the next while.

Thus, as he left America with his niece in tow, and his mood dipped into a terrible, melancholic low he found himself relying more and more on luxury to distract himself. Rather than a simple passenger liner, Marcus and Anna travelled on a first class liner across the Atlantic, putting themselves up in a suite. It was a Cunard Line ship, which in Brody's memory was always the first class in ocean liner... while not having the dark reputation of the White Star Line.

"Is this like the Titanic?" Anna asked, looking over the ship as they approached the passenger terminal, recalling a certain story her father had told him.

"The Titanic was a passenger liner," Marcus said, "This is a passenger liner also."

"Dad says he was on the Titanic when it sunk," Anna nodded sagely, "He says that him and his old tutor Seymour barely got out."

Marcus creased his brow. Was there any major event in the last three decades that Indy hadn't experienced?

The week it took for the ship to cruise across the Atlantic to Europe was, in the two's opinion, far too short. It was with great regret that Marcus and Anna disembarked from the ship, leaving behind their luxury suite and the stewards who waited on them hand and foot. Though, they were fortunate in the fact that they had arrived before the first snows, with Marcus promising that Anna would love his old house even more than she loved the liner.

An old friend from Oxford loaned Marcus an automobile, which they drove out into the countryside north of London, near Oxford. Anna's mind very vaguely recalled a few details about England, about the feel of its air, the smell of its people, and the look of its plants. It was with some disappointment that she finally realized that her book on American Birds was unlikely to be very helpful in England.

Marcus stopped the car next to a bookstore, once again distracting himself from his upcoming tasks by delighting himself in the joy on Anna's face as he emerged with another book. ENGLISH BIRDS, written by the same author in a series of ornithological guides to world bird species.

The sun set, its orange rays peeking a few times through endlessly scrolling grey clouds. Despite the failing light, Anna kept her eyes glued to the new book she had gotten. Just as quickly as Marcus's smile had come, though, it faded as he spotted the silhouette of his old home on the horizon.

It wasn't that old. Early Modern age in origin, though its facets were meant to mimic more Georgian styles. Green ivy crawled up the sides of its grey stone bricks. Hedges surrounded a delicate courtyard, with stables, carriage house, and a walled garden built around its periphery. A fountain in the center of the area was inactive, collecting dust and scum at its bottom as its spout hadn't flowed in decades.

A man in a suit came out to meet them as they came out of their car, helping them with their luggage and other belongings.

"This is my butler, Denholm," Marcus introduced, "Denholm, this is Anna. My niece."

"Righto," Denholm nodded, a pair of bushy eyebrows settling over his eyes as he looked down at Anna, "Good to meet you," he looked back to Marcus, "...And it is good to have you back in the house again, Master Brody... even though it is not under the happiest of circumstances."

Marcus sighed, "...Indeed, well, it's good to be back at least for a little while."

"I have ensured the staff have cleaned up the place as much as possible in preparation for your return," he said, hoisting the two's luggage under his arms and walking towards the front door, "But with so few cleaners, it's... hard for them to get everything spotless."

Marcus could already spy that the outside of the home hadn't been washed, ash still clinging to awnings and walls. There was some overgrowth in the hedges, with some weeds growing under the shadows of the bushes. Still, he had no desire to complain, he would hire a greater team of cleaners to come and fully do the manor over before it opened to buyers.

He gave a glance over his shoulder, seeing Anna lagging behind slightly as she slowly walked up the stairs backwards, eyes wide and still taking in the environment. He took the opportunity to lean close into Denholm's shoulder, "One of the most important thing about this time, Denholm, is that I allow one more child the magic of these halls before I bid them goodbye. The last service you may do for me is ensuring this last Christmas has as much energy as possible."

"Very well, sir," Denholm nodded, giving a wistful smile as he pushed the front door open with a shoulder.

Marcus's house was old, drafty, but filled with an absolute banquet for the eyes when it came to old, interesting stuff to look at. Anna spent all of the rest of her time up until dinner walking side by side with her uncle, just looking at various things mounted to walls and placed upon pedestals and inside display cases. They were currently making their way through the western wing of the house, towards the old library, stopping every so often to marvel at something behind glass.

It was almost like the entire home was a museum. Which, Anna thought, was actually rather fitting.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing towards a model ship.

"That's a model of the HMS Unicorn. She was fabled to be carrying a great treasure when she was sunk by pirates," Marcus scoffed, shaking his head with a smile, "But everyone knows pirates don't attack ships-of-the-line. It was more likely just a storm. Very rare model, though. Only three made."

"What's that?" asked Anna, turning her attention to another piece.

"That was the sword my great-great-great grandfather owned when he was a navy captain," Marcus mused, looking at the decorated saber, "Captain of the HMS Scout. He was the first in my family to really become successful. Worked closely with the Royal Society, turned my family from business owners to minor aristocracy under the crown, then into a scholarly line."

Anna reached up, trying to run her forehoof over the sharp edge of the sword from where it hung on the wall, however she was guided away by Marcus's hand. Next, she looked towards a row of paintings hung on the wall, "Who's that?"

Marcus looked away from Anna towards the first painting, "That's Sir Michael Brody. The aforementioned navy captain. He fought in America, you know?"

"Against the loyalists?" Anna asked innocently, stopping to look up at the painting - depicting a man wearing a navy blue coat and looking out to sea from the deck of a wooden ship.

"Er, no," Marcus chuckled, "My family has always been Britishers. He sunk one of the sister-ships of the USS Constitution, you know?"

"What was that?" Anna asked, tilting her head and looking back over her shoulder at her uncle.

"Well the Constitution was an advanced type of wooden ship that had a very strong hull. She fought several British ships and won. Her sister ship, the Boston, was very presumptuous about her strength when bearing down on an inferior British ship. But the Scout bade her time and fired more carefully aimed shots with an experienced crew. The Americans didn't have the time or the skill to fire more than one broadside, most of which missed. The Scout's guns killed the enemy captain in its first volley, then they locked yardarms with the Scout's starboard side pressed against the Boston's stern."

"That's why they should've put guns on the back, like they do today," Anna pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

"Erh, they do have guns on the back," Marcus gave a nod back towards the display case a few paces back, "But every ship is weaker on its back and front than it is on its sides. So even though the cannonballs would bounce off the sides, they could pierce the stern, and they did grievous damage to the American crew before boarding and overwhelming the survivors. My ancestor was knighted for that one."

Anna scrunched up her nose, before eventually muttering, "Still won the war," and moving on.

Marcus Brody grinned to himself, running a hand along the side of his head as he continued on next to her, "After the war, my father wrote a treatise about his accounts of South American cultures. From then on, we moved away from being a military family and towards being men of science, instead."

"Dad says you have two doctorates?" Anna asked, peeking around a corner, before trotting forward at a slightly increased pace.

"In anthropology and history, yes," Brody said, "I got one from Oxford, one from Princeton. That's where I met your grandfather, you know?"

"You know my grandfather?" Anna asked, stopping and turning around with raised eyebrows. Eventually, though, she lowered her head, "Dad says he's real mean."

"Your grandfather and his son have never had the best of relationships," Marcus sighed, reaching up and smoothing the fringe of his hair.

"Why?" Anna asked, turning around and walking again, spying the doors ahead leading to the library.

Marcus grimaced, considering his next words carefully. He was hesitant to say anything that would anger either party, despite feeling the need to defend both of them at the same time. Nervously, he gently explained, "Your grandfather was very neglectful of Indy when he was your age. Indiana was so angry at him that he ran away and went to war, which grieved your grandfather very much."

"They should probably apologize to each other," Anna rolled her eyes, hopping up and turning the knob on the door leading into the library.

Marcus huffed, eyes looking skywards as she followed her in, saying under his breath, "You're telling me..."

Windows looked out over the fields adjacent to the house, breaking up rows upon rows of bookshelves. A vaulted ceiling hung overhead, lit by a chandelier as a staircase lead to an overlook, where more bookshelves and study spaces existed. Doors lead back towards the center of the house, and out into the fields. A few more display cases and paintings were placed between the bookshelves or where there weren't any windows to break up the shelves.

Marcus frowned, walking over to one of the display cases and peering at the funerary mask inside, "I'd forgotten all about this one. This should be in a museum..."

Marcus turned around, seeing Anna perusing the stacks of books in his shelves. She grabbed out a book, titled in Greek, opening it to a random page and sitting on a couch to read idly. He smiled a bit, remembering a much younger Marcus Brody prancing between the stacks, wearing his collar high and his pants tucked into his socks from riding practice. He would yank out the musings of philosophers and scholars from ages past, reading them alongside books of daring knights and fearless sea captains.

It was a simpler time, before the crash, the war, before all the drama and hubbub in Europe. It was when the telephone and the airplane were the most fascinating things for a young man to marvel about. Now, he was an old man, where every new development seemed to make the world darker and every new technology seemed to forge a path for evil. There was about to be so little left of that bygone age as Marcus reached the era in his life where life stopped giving him things, and started to take them away instead.

The younger Marcus Brody drew his book closer, kicking his legs as he read from the couch. He would look up from the top of his book, staring dreamily at the wallpaper and counting the tiles on the ceiling. He would think about how would want to become an actor, or maybe a medical doctor when he grew up. He would think about what was for dinner, or about the warm sheets he was going to be able to retreat to.

The old man in front of him slowly doddered his way over, running a hand across one of the shelves until he arrived at the seat. Gripping onto one of the armrests, he sat down next to the boy, looking over his shoulder at his book.

"You know, that was one of my old favorites," Marcus said to Anna, the vision slowly fading from his eyes.

Anna's eyes came away from the wallpaper and the ceiling tiles, blinking at Marcus a few times. Eventually, she asked, "What's it about?"

"Well what's it called?" Marcus queried, pointing towards one of the covers.

Anna turned it over, reading the Greek on it, "Ponderings of the Great Thinkers," she translated.

"I used to have a tutor who taught me Greek, just like yours," Marcus said, leaning back into his couch and interlacing his fingers in front of himself, "Some of the books in this place are very old. Old enough that some of them are written in Latin and Middle English. One of my greatest joys as a youth was to learn how to read a new book."

"Books are pretty nice," Anna said, voice completely honest as she then added: "But I don't like these kinds. I like the ones that're fictional."

Marcus blinked, before nodding, "Well that's entirely fair. I don't think your father was one for academic reading, either," he raised a hand, pointing to a shelf a few paces away from them, "There are some fictions there, as well. There's one that's written in Ancient Greek in there that might be quite stimulating, it's one of the oldest adventure books we've ever had."

Anna perked up, closing the book and tossing it aside onto the couch, before getting up and walking over to the indicated section. After a few more directions from Marcus, she pulled out the old Grecian travelogue and walked back over to the couch. Opening it up, she squinted at the writing on it.

"I can't read this," Anna said, "It doesn't make any sense."

"Well, that's because it's in Ancient Greek," Marcus pointed out, before reaching out a hand to grab one side of the book, "Here, allow me to teach you. It's not that hard once you know a few simple translations..."

For the next hour, they sat together. He helped her read out certain passages, advising her on others, and pointing out the differences between her modern understanding of the language and the millenia-old writing. At one point, Anna scrunched her muzzle in confusion.

"Isn't that talking like this is a real story?" Anna asked, "I thought you said this was fiction."

"Well, back in this day, it was very hard to travel outside of your home village or city," Marcus smiled, "So the writers of these travelogues could say they visited these far away places, bring back tales of said places, and then embellish all the details they want. As a satire, a later author claimed they visited the Moon."

"All my friends say that I was embellishing when I wrote about Dad going underground, or when he went to Marrakesh and fought the Nazis," Anna frowned, "How do we know they weren't telling the truth?"

"Well it's... highly unlikely the Greeks went to the Moon, Anna," Marcus chuckled, grinning widely as he placed his hands in front of him again.

There was a silence as Marcus watched Anna silently attempt to read the ancient script in the book. He wondered, in the back of his mind, if perhaps it would be wise to search out an English translation of the book in order to help her compare between the two and assist her learning. Then again, doubt popped into his mind about how eager she would be to go through more academia over the holidays, knowing how thorough her tutor was during the school days of the year.

Licking his lips, Marcus eventually enquired, "Anna, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I dunno," Anna shrugged, "I'm twelve years old, Uncle Marcus."

Tilting his head at her honesty, before nodding his head slightly, he eventually probed, "Anna, might you try and pursue literature?"

"Huh?" she asked, looking up from her book.

"Well, you know, writing?" Marcus asked, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, "I read your novel about your father's adventures. For being only nine years old when you penned it, it was very impressive."

"You think so?" Anna asked, tilting her head.

"Yes," Marcus nodded, "Do you have a typewriter at home?"

"No..." Anna started, before stopping herself and correcting: "Well, yes, actually. But Dad keeps it in his study and I'm not meant to go in there."

"Well perhaps I can give you one of your own," Marcus hummed, tapping his fingers against the back of the couch. Eventually, he stood up, straightening his coat, "I will tell you, though, that most of this library will be sold by next year. My task for you this Christmas is to go through the book in here and telling me everything you would like to take home with you."

Anna's eyes bugged at that, and she immediately panned her vision around the library. It was almost large enough to compete with the public one back in Bedford, and she was told she could keep anything she wanted. Almost immediately, she shrugged off the travelogue, placing it atop the last book she discarded, before once again walking to the fiction section to ogle the spines.

Despite the weight in his heart, Marcus smiled again, turning to run a hand along the shelf once again as he walked back for the doors.

The very next day was the first snowfall. After a breakfast of fresh pancakes, topped with syrup, whipped cream, and berries, Marcus had urged Anna to don her winter gear and head outside. Denholm had prepared a carriage with a horse, one that had been rented as the stables in the Brody estate hadn't been in use for decades.

"This is how we used to travel down to the village when I was a boy!" Marcus said, walking over to step up onto the carriage with a grunt, taking the reigns as Anna flitted up from the ground next to him.

Anna was fairly silent, giving the horse a wary look as she sat on the seat next to him, "Where're we going, Uncle Marcus?"

As soon as they were both settled, Marcus snapped the reigns and urged the horse onwards, before responding with, "Well, we are going to the yard where they sell Christmas trees. Then, I am going to dodder around the old town to see how things have gotten on there since I was last here."

The horse kept tossing its head, trying to look behind itself despite the blinders keeping its eyes on the road ahead. The light snowfall was insufficient to provide too much of an obstacle to the carriage's wheels as they trundled along, a patchwork green-and-white landscape surrounding them as they gained distance from the manor.

Anna reached into her coat idly, taking out her pocket watch. Licking her lips, she stared down into it, looking at her reflection against the pale light streaming down from the grey clouds overhead.

"Oh? Where'd you get that from?" Marcus asked, glancing away from the road towards the watch, "Hmm. Gold?"

"Gold plated, Dad says," Anna shrugged, "I got it when I ran away from those treasure hunters near the Hadley Mine."

"I would've thought he would have sold it," Marcus remarked, relaxing his grip on the reigns as he leaned back into the carriage, enjoying the feeling of cold air across his face.

"He said we could, but..." Anna looked down at it, remembering that moment in the forest, hiding underneath the branch... when everything suddenly seemed to feel so right as she looked into its reflection, "I wanted to keep it."

"Does it work?" Marcus asked.

"No," Anna said, opening the top and winding it, showing the clock hands frozen in place, "We think it stopped working when it got dropped down a big shaft with its owner."

Marcus pursed his lips, looking out ahead onto the road, before nodding to himself quietly. Eventually, they arrived at the village, with Marcus hitching the horse and Anna flying down from the carriage and walking in the opposite direction. Together, they joined a busy crowd at a big, fenced-off yard where trees were being sold. After picking out a seemingly healthy and tall - but not too tall - tree to take back home, they secured it to the carriage.

Marcus knew exactly where they were going next, ushering Anna along as they made their way to the local watchmaker.

The watchmaker cautiously inspected the internal mechanical pieces of Anna's watch under a magnifying glass. His thick moustache hid his pursed lips, and a thin pair of eyebrows slanted together as he examined the clockwork with an expert gaze. Eventually, he looked up towards his two customers, "Antique. About forty years old, I would reckon."

"Can you see what's wrong?" Marcus asked.

"Mhm. A bunch of the pieces are bent completely out of shape," the watchmaker said, laying his magnifying glass on the table next to the watch, "I would advise you to just get a new watch, but I assume this is an heirloom?"

Marcus gave a glance towards Anna, before turning his gaze upon the watchmaker again, "Erh- yes. How long would it take for you to fix it?"

"At this point, it would be best if I overhauled the clockwork entirely," the watchmaker surmised, taking a small, thin instrument and tapping a few gears inside the watch, "There is erosion here, likely from water leaking past the casing and into the clockwork. If I just repaired the critically damaged parts, it would probably break down again in a few weeks. I will have to order a full set of replacement parts from a customer tooler in London and replace the entire mechanism. They don't make these pieces standard anymore."

Anna shrugged, "It's okay, I don't really need it to work-"

Marcus hushed her with a wave of his hand, "Can you get it done before Christmas?" he asked the watchmaker.

The watchmaker sighed, "...Might be waiting until February?"

Marcus, in response, reached into his pocket and took out a fifty pound bill and placed it on the table. The watchmaker blinked, before reaching out and taking the bill.

"I'll have it to you by Christmas Eve, guaranteed," he said, tipping his flatcap.

On their way back from the village, the Christmas tree secured to the back of the carriage and the wheels trundling along through the snow, Marcus grunted in frustration as the horse once again tossed its head, whipping the reigns about. Its gait was unsteady, stopping and starting seemingly without any reason as it continued to whip its head back and forth, flare its nostrils, and whinny.

"I must know where Denholm got this beast from," Marcus growled in frustration, cracking the reigns once again as the horse inexplicably stopped once again, "Must've sold us something not broken in yet!"

Anna looked at the horse uncomfortably as, in response to the crack, it just tossed its head again. Eventually, one of the blinders on the side of its face came loose, flopping aside and allowing the horse to finally turn its head and look back at her. Its glassy eye met her, and suddenly its expression changed into one of pure panic.

Marcus gasped as the horse began to buck and storm, kicking the front of the carriage in what appeared to be panic. Its hooves cracked the wood as its driver attempted to haul in on the reigns. Anna gave out a scream of fear as the wooden bracing in the front of the carriage cracked open, which seemed to prompt the horse into greater fear as it suddenly set its hooves and began to gallop forward.

"Whoah! Whoah! WHOAH!" Marcus screamed as they were suddenly blitzing across the countryside at full speed. Desperately, he tried to regain control of the animal, but it was clear that its mind was far too clouded by fear to listen to any commands.

The horse made its way down the road at full tilt, until the road turned. Ignoring the turn, the horse leapt over the fence protecting the side from an embankment leading down to an icy river. The carriage, following closely behind, smashed into the fence with the crunch of wood and the splintering of planks. The two passengers within were launched forward as the carriage's motion was arrested, and the harness keeping the horse attached was destroyed.

The stallion continued to flee wildly across the river, hooves splashing through the shallow water and chunks of ice. The carriage skidded forward, its front destroyed along with the fence, a few feet down the bank before the friction of the gravel brought it to a stop.

Marcus and Anna clutched each other, staring forward at the rushing, icy river ahead of them. The pine needles of the Christmas tree fastened to the back brushed against their heads, and their feet and hind legs struggled for purchase against the floor as the river torrented past a few inches down.

"Well, that was close," Marcus said, looking up to see their horse turning into a distant dot.

There was another crack of wood as one of the arms of the carriage splintered, causing the entire thing to fall forward once again, upending itself and dumping the two passengers firmly into the river.

Fortunately, as soon as Anna's wings freeze-dried, she was able to shake the ice out of them and fly to the manor to call Denholm to come in the car. Shivering and near death, they sat next to the fire together, nursing cups of hot cocoa. The next day, the tree was set up and decorated. While Marcus could remember the days when full-sized trees were brought home on the backs of wagons, large enough to fit the vaulted ceiling of the foyer, this year it was only practical to bring a normal-size tree to place in the lounge.

Unfortunately, as soon as December arrived, Uncle and Niece rapidly came down ill with pneumonia. No doubt as a result of the exposure to the icy cold water. That put a firm rain check on their plans to go ice skating, building a snowman, and going to the cathedral to listen to the choir singing Christmas carols.

Instead, they got to sit at home, running fevers and lying in bed. At the very least, it gave Marcus the chance to sit and teach Anna how to use a typewriter. She struggled a bit with the keys and the size of her hooves, but eventually she seemed to get a method. It wasn't a method that Marcus could understand, by any measure, as it seemed to involve her hovering her forehooves on top of the keys and them magically clicking away by whatever invisible force propelled her ability to grip and manipulate objects.

Still, she was able to write a letter to her Uncle Johan, her Uncle Richard, and even to her tutor. It made Marcus much happier about one of his Christmas presents, which arrived a week before the day.

Out of bed, but still with a nasty cough, Marcus and Anna were once again able to peruse the halls of their estate. Unfortunately, Anna was more or less left to her own devices as Marcus was forced to retreat to his study to arrange for the sale of the estate's assets, the exhumation of his ancestors from the private graveyard, and of course a real estate company to take care of the house itself.

Still, even as delivery workers boxed up paintings, artefacts, heirlooms, and pieces of unnecessary furniture, Christmas drew nearer. Despite the fact that Anna had not the least bit of attachment to the home or its belongings, Marcus could still sense a deep sense of longing within her, even as she set up an electric toy train set and continued to grow more and more confident on the typewriter.

On Christmas Eve, as they cut a fresh ham, served pudding, a fancy vegetarian dish that Marcus didn't recognize for Anna, and poured glasses of grape juice, Marcus's suspicions were confirmed as Anna sighed and said, "I wish Dad were here..."

Marcus's heart broke for her as she sat, head low and ears flat on her skull. Indiana was, of course, somewhere in Kenya, risking life and limb for some ancient idol. It was an unspoken trust between the two of them that, if anything happened to Indiana, Marcus would be the one to take over her care. Every holiday that he was away, Marcus prayed to every deity from every religion he had studied that Indiana would come back... and perhaps even stay back.

Yet, for every time he was nearly blown up, shot, stabbed, or died of disease, Indiana would just come back, kiss his daughter on her forehead, then leave again.

Marcus, twirling his fork within his meal, decided to say something, "Can I be perfectly honest with you, Anna?"

Anna looked up, "Yeah..?"

Marcus felt a sting in his nose as his pain stabbed through his heart, "...I... I wish my father were here too."

"Where is he?" Anna asked, voice still glum as she lifelessly flicked her fork through her meal.

"He passed away, ten years ago," Marcus admitted, dropping his fork and interlocking his hands in front of himself, "I really miss him, especially around this time. This would usually be the time when he would lighten up the most, his mind off of work and on the holidays..."

"I hope my dad doesn't die," Anna said bluntly.

Marcus's heart fell even more at the thought that Anna had put thought towards the possibility of her father's death, "...I hope so too, Anna."

"...He's going to miss my birthday as well, isn't he?" Anna asked, placing her forehoof against her cheek as she too abandoned her meal.

Marcus didn't answer out loud. He simply looked down at the table and nodded silently.

Anna gave a deep sigh, eyes sweeping across the room and away from Marcus as her shoulders sagged, almost resigned as she questioned, "Did your dad always miss your birthdays too?"

"Sometimes," Marcus admitted, before his eyes flicked up towards her, "But, deep down I think he loved me very, very much," there was a pause, before Marcus probed, "You know your father loves you very, very much too, right?"

Anna shrugged, giving no further elaboration as she stared down into her food again.

Marcus pursed his lips, "You know, your father loved you so much that when he found you, he gave up adventuring and sat down to read books and teach all day for nine whole years. But... he's a lot like you. He doesn't like to read smart, nonfiction books all day. He likes to go out and see the world and get into a whole mess of trouble," a pause, "...But it's so much trouble that if you were there, Anna, he's afraid you would get hurt."

"I could handle myself," Anna claimed, folding her forelegs and looking up.

"It's more than that," Marcus explained, "He's afraid that if he keeps bringing you along, you won't be able to see your friends, or get your schooling done. He's afraid of hurting you when you grow up, not just right now."

Anna frowned deeply, breaking eye contact again, "...I just want to have him here for Christmas, Uncle Marcus. Every year, and for my birthday too..."

"You're right for wanting that, Anna," Marcus gave a sigh, picking up a fork and running his left fingers over the prongs of it, "But sometimes, I'm afraid we can't get what we want... no matter how unfair it is."

Anna considered that for a moment. Uncle Richard lost his boat, Uncle Johan had to move back to Germany, and Uncle Marcus was going to lose his old house. Still, no matter how much sense it made, it couldn't stop her heart from feeling like it was about to crawl down past her lungs and into her stomach.

They went to bed early that night, though all Anna did was lie in bed and stare out the window on the far side of her room, at the stars spanning across the sky and down towards the horizon past the fields. A star twinkled, followed by a white streak as it shot across the sky.

Rolling over, Anna closed her eyes and wished for her father.

There was no Christmas miracle the next day. Marcus tried his very best to make the date as special as possible for Anna. She was showered in gifts, the latest model of typewriter for her to take home with her, a bundle of several books she had selected from the private library, her watch - now working and ticking away normally, and new clothes tailored to her size.

Still, as the new year came and went, all Anna could think about was going home. Both her and Marcus left the estate with a very low spirit, leaving only a 'For Sale' sign behind, stapled to the wall next to the front gate. At the very least, a few weeks after they arrived back in America, Indiana came back from Africa with a few new bandages, bumps and bruises, and a few stories to tell.

Author's Note

today on indiana jones and the daring daughter:

A horse turns around to see an uncanny valley equine skinwalker sitting in the back seat and drives straight into a river.