The Snatchwood Cabin
Twig sat on the floor between his mother's knees, and curled his toes in the thick fleece of the tilder rug. It was cold and draughty in the cabin. Twig leaned forwards and opened the door of the stove.
"I want to tell you the story of how you got your name," his mother said.
"But I know that story, Mother-Mine," Twig protested.