He ate a measly dinner out of a shallow tin bowl, the dog sitting at the foot of his chair. It took both of them some time to finally reach their fill, and neither of them made to move positions even after they’d done so. They sat for a long time, quiet, listening to the wind outside. The smell of the logs smoldering filled the small cottage, and the air was full of the slanting, flickering rays of light coming from the black furnace in the corner. The boy slid his finger around the edge of the bowl, thinking he would not be called boy anymore once he was back across the ridge in the spring. And the dog, laying at his feet, thought about the boy as well. She was a large, burly thing, with an ugly face that made most of the men laugh. But goodness her eyes were bright, and her legs were strong. She was beautiful in the boys’ sharp eyes. They both soon fell into sleep, barely moving at all before finally getting up, closing the small furnace door, and collapsing into sleep.
Waking before the sun was up, the boy cooked several eggs before grabbing his pack and lantern and setting off down the hill with the dog at his side. She looked like a small polar bear beside him. She was huge and white, flecked with gray around her stomach and ears, and black fur running up three of her four legs. Her face was rounder than most dogs around, and the fur seemed to poof out in odd patched all around her. The walk took them through the sunrise, and the awakening of the forest all around them.
The boy loved her.
This is not good. I haven’t written anything real in a couple weeks, so I need to break the ice off and warm up a little bit.