Mist drifted in from the sea, winding between the cottages of the coastal hamlet. Nets hung drying on posts, boats rested on their keels, and gulls circled high above the cliffs. The evening was calm, but the four siblings were not.
“Uncle Seba is far too proud of his sharp eyes,” Hildr Arnórr whispered, glancing toward the great figure standing by his hall. “Let us see if we can outwit him tonight.”
Óttarr Alfarr grinned, his teeth flashing in the fading light. “A hunter he may be, but we are foxes—and foxes vanish.”
Eyvindr Agni smirked, already watching the shadows lengthen between the sheds. “If he finds me first, I’ll eat a barrel of dried fish.”
Little Ásgeirr Hákon clasped his hands with excitement. “Then let’s hide! Let’s hide before he even knows the game has begun!”
As if hearing them, Uncle Seba turned, his laughter booming like a drum. “You cannot flee me, little wolves. Wherever you skulk, I will sniff you out.” His words were playful, but his eyes gleamed with the thrill of the chase.
Hildr hissed, “Quick, scatter!”
The children ran. Óttarr darted to the boatyard, slipping behind an upturned hull. Eyvindr slid into the drying shed, disappearing among the rows of hanging fish. Ásgeirr scrambled toward the rocky shore and buried himself beneath a heap of thick ropes beside a weathered anchor stone. Hildr herself moved swiftly between cottages, ducking into the shadows where nets and barrels were stacked high.
Uncle Seba straightened, took a long breath of the sea air, and began his hunt.
Now the story pauses. Four clever children are hidden somewhere in the hamlet, hearts beating, breaths held, waiting for the heavy tread of their uncle. He will not rest until he has found them all.
But perhaps *you* might find them first.
Can you uncover where Hildr, Óttarr, Eyvindr, and little Ásgeirr are hiding before Uncle Seba does?