The winter solstice had passed and the days grew longer, though they were just as cold. Every morning, Frank woke up feeling like his toes had been dipped in icy water. During the coldest nights, they brought in the weakest of the goat herd to huddle together. Frank found the goats liked to lay around them and they were as warm as blankets and their grassy smell reminded him of summer.

       "I cannot sleep with this goat snoring like he's the god of sleep," Frank's grandmother said one night.

      Still, she put up with it and one morning, Frank even saw her tickling the chin of the same goat she had complained of previously. As the days drew on, though, it only grew colder and soon, and they were running low on food. "If things don't get better soon," Emily said, "we'll have to either eat up some of the seeds we are saving for next year or slaughter a goat."

   Frank blanched. "You wouldn't."

    "They're not producing enough milk right now," Emily said. "They make enough for their kids, but there's hardly any leftover for us."

    That was true. Hunger had pinched at both humans and goats that winter. Frank squared his shoulders. "You don't need to kill a goat because I'll go hunting."

     Frank's mother and grandmother blinked as he fetched his slingshot, pouch of stones, and his winter cloak. "Wait," Frank's grandmother said, moving suddenly. "You shouldn't go yet — not without this gift."

    She left the house and returned a few minutes later heating a large, wooden bow and a quiver full of arrows. Frank took it in his hands, blinking in amazement. "Where did you get it?"

     "It was your father's," she explained, "he was an archer before moving up ranks. We kept it stored near the cheese."

     "It's beautiful," Frank whispered, admiring the curvature of the bow and the smooth shafts of the arrows.

    "Go on and practice before you go hunting," his grandmother suggested. "You're good with a slingshot, but a bow is more powerful."

    He nodded and thanked her before stepping outside. The cold hit him immediately as he trudged through the wintery landscape, snow and ice crunching beneath his feet. He found a tree stump to aim at and then practiced.

    The first arrow hit a few feet from his target. The second was closer, but still missed. Frank shot arrow after arrow and then fetched them before trying again. He shot arrows until his arms were sore and sweat was gathering at his brows. Only then, did he decide to trudge into the forest.

    Doubt hit him almost instantly. Shooting a tree stump was one thing, but bringing down prey was another. It was cold and Frank longed to swaddle himself with blankets and sit near the fire, but then he remembered his goats. They needed him.

    He kept walking, carefully stepping and shifting his weight so that he made as little noise as possible. Then, he caught sight of a shape. A deer shyly peeked out from behind a tree. It stepped gracefully forward and lowered its snout to the ground, pawing at the snow and searching for food.

    Frank tried to control his breathing as he skunk forward into a good position. The deer's ears swiveled and it looked up from time to time. Frank tried to steady his breath as he knocked an arrow and then drew it back. His heart was thumping in his chest so loudly that he was surprised the deer couldn't hear it. Frank looked down the shaft of the arrow, adjusted his aim, and then let it fly.

The arrow flew through the air and hit the deer's left shoulder, causing the animal to look up, startled. Frank drew another arrow and let it fly, hitting the deer's throat. The deer started bucking now, standing on its hind legs and kicking out its front ones. Frank approached it slowly. It was hard seeing a creature in pain like this. The deer had done nothing to him, but Frank reminded himself that his family needed it.

The deer tried to walk away, but it stumbled, and fell to the ground. Even then, its hooves swept against the ground and it looked Frank in the eye, causing his throat to fill up with emotion. At last, the deer's movements stopped and the animal stilled. Frank checked its pulse; there was none. He removed the two arrows and cleaned them before returning them to his quiver. Then, he hauled the deer carcass over his shoulders and trudged home.

***

"You've made me proud," Frank's grandmother said.

Frank sucked his head in embarrassment. "This deer will feed us for at least a couple weeks," Emily said. "Maybe more."

Now was the time to say it. "Mother," Frank said. "Could we give some of the meat to the di Angelo family?"

Emily and Frank's grandmother exchanged a glance. Then, Emily stepped forward and poked his side like she used to do when she told him stories. "I said you could be anything," she said, "and you've proved me right. You've turned into a generous young man. Of course we can. Let's invite the di Angelo family over for dinner tomorrow night."

***

Preparing the deer for dinner took awhile. First, they had to flay the carcass. "We can cure and sell the hide later," Frank's grandmother said.

It was time-consuming and quite gross work. When the pelt was finally removed, Frank was charged with preparing it. He took it outside, hung it up under an olive tree and began scraping the hide clean with a falling stick. He worked until it was nearing sunset.

When he returned, he found dinner awaiting. The deer meat was roasted and spiced with thyme and rosemary. They ate the meat, savoring each bite. Normally, they only ate meat during festivals when animals were sacrificed and the general public dined on the remaining bits.

Frank looked up when he was full; he hadn't been able to finish what his mother had put before him. "So, are my goats safe?"

Emily smiled. "They shall live another year."