The weather was forecasting snowfall. There was one week left until Christmas, and December had already set records for snow and cold. Thick ice had covered everything for weeks, but the recent freeze had made it somewhat fragile and dangerous. Martin Molin stood at the bow of the boat slowly moving through the channel that the rescue speedboat had cut through the ice all the way to Vale Island. He wondered to himself what exactly he was doing there and if he had ultimately made the right decision. But Lisette had asked him so insistently. She had begged him on her knees, if he wanted to be honest. Family gatherings were not her strong suit, she had said, and it would be much easier to endure if he was there with her. The problem was that a meeting with the family would mean some seriousness in the relationship, which he did not recognize anyway.

But what had happened and been said was final. Now he was here, heading to the old childhood camp in Vale, to spend two days with her family. He turned back. Fielbaka was, undeniably, incredibly beautiful, even now in winter, with the wooden houses amidst the whiteness of the snow. The way it embraced the gray mountain gave the small community a unique, aesthetically appealing intensity. Maybe one should move here from Tanumshede, he thought for a moment, but then laughed at himself. Surely that would happen the day he won the Lotto.