A boy and his sister gather moss on the side of a mountain. During their journey, the sister tells her brother stories and when the story concludes and the two of them are huddled against the mountain to avoid a rockslide, the story takes a turn. It became something more than a mere depiction and instead, became a reflection of something bigger, of the life outside of these two that the reader knows they will be returning to.
Interestingly, this is the first Icelandic story I've read (and it is supposedly the first Icelandic short story ever written) and I read it in translation, a link to which is below. Overall, I thought the writing was solid and the story was layered in a way that made me wish there'd been more. A sibling rivalry on the literal rocks. Need I say more?