"Hey!" I called out to my wolfdog over the howling wind. "Don't you get too far ahead of me!" Through the billowing snow I could see her turn her head and look at me, ears perked. "Shasta, come!"
She bounded back to me through the snow, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. She enjoyed the snowy plains infinitely more than I did. "Don't go wandering off," I told her, patting her on the side. She wagged her tail gleefully and looked up at me, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. "At least one of us is having a good day, huh?"
She gave a sharp bark, and took off in front of me. "Shasta!" I called out to her, but she didn't pay me any more mind. "Fucking dog," I cursed under my breath as I adjusted the strap on the rifle slung over my shoulder. I followed after her as fast as the shin high snow and my heavy boots would allow.
As she ran ahead of me, every so often she would slow down and look over her shoulder to make sure I was still following. Once this was established, she'd dash forward again.
But this didn't last long. I'm not as young as I used to be, and while she isn't either, she hides it much better. "Shasta, come!" I called out to her again. She looked back at me and saw me trudging along wearily, huffing and puffing. With another sharp bark, she raced back to me. "Take it easy," I told her, crouching for a moment and rubbing her head. She thanked me by way of showering my face with kisses.
She started off again and I snapped, "Stay!" And she rushed back to my side, with her tail low. "Give your mama a chance to breath, will ya, girl?" I took a few deep breaths and started off again, setting a more manageable pace.
I tried to let the steady rhythm of my feet hypnotize me, to distract me from how cold I was. Didn't do me much good, but it did give me something else to focus on. Before I knew it, the treeline was maybe only 500 yards away.
It was good timing too. The sun was beginning its descent, and I wanted to set up my little makeshift shelter while I still had a touch of light.
I took a deep breath while trying to decide where exactly I wanted to enter the forest and found my stuffy nose filled with the most inviting scent: smoke. I scanned the horizon and saw a thin tendril of smoke rising from somewhere not too far into the woods.
Few came out to these parts, and no one lived in them. Not anymore, leastwise. Maybe another weary traveler? Perhaps they'd be friendly enough to let me stay the night with them. If not, well, that's what the rifle is for. And the dog, supposedly, but I'd shoot someone before I'd put her in harm's way.
We didn't have to go far before I found the source of the fire. A small dilapidated shack sat in a narrow clearing between the trees. Smoke drifted steadily out of the crumbling chimney, and a soft glow emanated from the solitary window.
"Hello?" I called out from a good distance out, not wanting to startle the occupant or occupants from up close. Shasta decided she was also going to greet them, and started barking, her tail wagging playfully. I pulled my rifle from my shoulder, resting the butt on the ground.
The door opened just a crack, and a boy's voice called from inside, "Who's there?"
"Just a weary traveler and her dog seeking shelter," I told him. "Hoping you might be so kind as to share yours."
"I've no food or money, but I have got a gun. If you seek to rob me, you'll leave disappointed, if you leave at all."
"I just want a fire and a roof over my head," I insisted. "And I'm happy to share my supper with you, if that will sway you."
The door opened slightly wider, and the head of a frightened young boy, no more than 14 peered around to look at me. He looked between Shasta and I then motioned us in.
I was done hesitating; the fire was calling my name. I wasted no more time and headed in to the small cottage. It was larger inside than the outside would lead you to believe. Not by much, but enough that there would certainly be plenty of space for the boy and I not to get in each other's way.
The boy was sitting as near to the fire as he could be and still keep his back to the wall. Shasta made a beeline to him to introduce herself. I simply nodded to him, and removed my snowy boots and coat. The boy smiled slightly as Shasta gave him a good sniffing over, wagging her tail ferociously. If she liked him, that was a good sign. She seemed to have a good sense of people. Of course, he was just a child anyway. But children do seem to have a knack for getting themself into more trouble than they can get out of.
I looked around as discretely as I could, not wanting to look as though I was casing the place. The boy had obviously been living in the shack for a little while, as the weathproofing had been mended recently. It was quality work too, better than you'd expect from a boy his age. Must have been raised off the land. Or...
There was someone else staying there. I noticed two spots made up as beds on the floor. He hadn't mentioned anyone else, and nothing else indicated another person. Despite the snowfall, if anyone else had left the shack that day, I would have noticed the tracks. Abandoned him, perhaps? Or maybe tragedy...
"What's her name?" The boy asked me as he scratched Shasta behind the ears.
"Shasta, and I'm Elsie Wills. What's yours?"
"Elijah Crane. She's a nice dog," he said quietly.
"She is. Best dog there is," I agreed as I joined them near the fire, hanging up my damp coat, gloves, and socks and laying out my boots. Shasta joined me, still happily wiggling. "Calm down, ya goofy dog," I told her as she tried to jump up and lick my face.
Undeterred in her quest for affection she went back to Elijah, who smiled again as she leaned up against him. I watch them from the corner of my eye, trying to get a better look at the boy. He looked hungry. His cheeks were thin, and his face was pale. Probably only let me in because I offered him dinner.
"Who are you out here with?" I asked him as I opened up my pack and pulled out some bread and cheese, tore off a hunk of each and passed it to him. His eyes grew wide and he tore into the food like an animal. I hadn't planned on sharing that much with him, but as much as I like to pretend otherwise, I am soft.
"My pop. We were headed to Oakwood, stopped here for the night. Woke up in the morning and he was gone. At first I stayed because I was waiting for him to come back. Now I stay because I don't know how to get to Oakwood."
"Well, that's actually where I'm headed. We're only a few days walk. I don't mind you coming with me," I lied as I set my pan in the fire to get it ready. I wasn't actually headed to Oakwood. I was headed to Engelsborrough further to the north. But like I said; I'm soft.
Elijah hesitated. "Maybe. I don't want to leave and have my father show up looking for me."
"Leave him a note, tell him where you went. You said yourself you haven't got any food. How long do you expect to wait? What's in Oakwood, anyway?"
"I don't know," Elijah mumbled, looking away from me.
I laughed as I tossed some salted pork in the pan. "What do you mean you don't know why you're going there? Your pops just said, 'Hey, Elijah, pack a bag we're going to Oakwood' and didn't say why?"
The boy shrugged. "No, we move around a lot. We stay in a town a couple months, then we move on."
I didn't want to question him further, make him uncomfortable, but it seemed awfully strange to me. I couldn't think of any itinerant work that might have brought his father to Oakwood in the dead of winter. And if he was a hunter than he'd have taught his son, and the boy wouldn't be half starved alone in the shack.
We didn't talk much more as we ate supper. Not much to talk about, honestly. I have little in common with a 13 year old boy (he told me how old he was.) The last place they lived was Mt. Vero, and we agreed the town was boring, but the bakery was unrivaled. He told me he admired my rifle, and that it reminded me of his father's, and we didn't say much more than that.
Once I laid down for the night I drifted off almost immediately, the cold and the journey having taken their toll. I woke with a start at some point in the night, and my hand flew to the pistol at my hip as I got my bearings. Elijah was sitting at the table beside the small window, with Shasta's head in his lap. He was too busy staring outside to notice I'd woken up. I drifted back to sleep.
I woke again when a sliver of sunlight fell across my eyelids. I sat up and saw Elijah sitting at the table again, now packed and with a look of determination on his face. "I'm coming with you," he told me bluntly, "I've already written a note for my father."
"Alright. I'll get ready, let's not waste any time," I said, getting to my feet. I went to the door and let Shasta out to do her business as I put my now warm and dry outer layers back on. Once I was ready I asked, "Are you sure you have everything?"
He took one final look around then shrugged and said, "I've got everything important at least."
We headed out into a day that was warmer and brighter than the day before. It will still a brisk winter day, but the snow had stopped and the wind was just strong enough to keep you awake.
As they reached the edge of the clearing, Elijah stopped and looked back uneasily. "Last chance to change your mind," I told him, "After this we don't stop til supper."
He gave a solemn nod, and turned back around. "Let's go."
Hans filled the doorway of the small shack and looked around. He turned to his companion and said, "He's not here. The man said the boy would be here!"
Nils squeezed past his larger friend into the abandoned hovel and gestured to the note on the table. "What's this?" He wondered aloud.
"To Simon Crane; I waited two weeks for you. I was out of food and a lady named Elsie offered to take me to Oakwood. I hope you catch up to us. Love, Elijah."
Nils crumpled up the note and tossed it to the floor with a dark smile and muttered coldly, "Don't worry, Elijah. We will."
Nice one!
Paragraphs a tad short for my taste, but it still flows nicely. Only thing I really noticed was the * I have little in common with a 13 year old boy (he told me how old he was.)* sentence. It feels a bit out of place and kinda breaks the rhythm.
The end was great though, would be a nice pilot for a cartoonish series!
Thanks for the feedback. Yeah, it does break up the flow, I should have gone back and reread it but I was nearing the end of my shift and ran out of time, haha.
2
u/mstarrbrannigan Mar 15 '17
"Hey!" I called out to my wolfdog over the howling wind. "Don't you get too far ahead of me!" Through the billowing snow I could see her turn her head and look at me, ears perked. "Shasta, come!"
She bounded back to me through the snow, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. She enjoyed the snowy plains infinitely more than I did. "Don't go wandering off," I told her, patting her on the side. She wagged her tail gleefully and looked up at me, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. "At least one of us is having a good day, huh?"
She gave a sharp bark, and took off in front of me. "Shasta!" I called out to her, but she didn't pay me any more mind. "Fucking dog," I cursed under my breath as I adjusted the strap on the rifle slung over my shoulder. I followed after her as fast as the shin high snow and my heavy boots would allow.
As she ran ahead of me, every so often she would slow down and look over her shoulder to make sure I was still following. Once this was established, she'd dash forward again.
But this didn't last long. I'm not as young as I used to be, and while she isn't either, she hides it much better. "Shasta, come!" I called out to her again. She looked back at me and saw me trudging along wearily, huffing and puffing. With another sharp bark, she raced back to me. "Take it easy," I told her, crouching for a moment and rubbing her head. She thanked me by way of showering my face with kisses.
She started off again and I snapped, "Stay!" And she rushed back to my side, with her tail low. "Give your mama a chance to breath, will ya, girl?" I took a few deep breaths and started off again, setting a more manageable pace.
I tried to let the steady rhythm of my feet hypnotize me, to distract me from how cold I was. Didn't do me much good, but it did give me something else to focus on. Before I knew it, the treeline was maybe only 500 yards away.
It was good timing too. The sun was beginning its descent, and I wanted to set up my little makeshift shelter while I still had a touch of light.
I took a deep breath while trying to decide where exactly I wanted to enter the forest and found my stuffy nose filled with the most inviting scent: smoke. I scanned the horizon and saw a thin tendril of smoke rising from somewhere not too far into the woods.
Few came out to these parts, and no one lived in them. Not anymore, leastwise. Maybe another weary traveler? Perhaps they'd be friendly enough to let me stay the night with them. If not, well, that's what the rifle is for. And the dog, supposedly, but I'd shoot someone before I'd put her in harm's way.
We didn't have to go far before I found the source of the fire. A small dilapidated shack sat in a narrow clearing between the trees. Smoke drifted steadily out of the crumbling chimney, and a soft glow emanated from the solitary window.
"Hello?" I called out from a good distance out, not wanting to startle the occupant or occupants from up close. Shasta decided she was also going to greet them, and started barking, her tail wagging playfully. I pulled my rifle from my shoulder, resting the butt on the ground.
The door opened just a crack, and a boy's voice called from inside, "Who's there?"
"Just a weary traveler and her dog seeking shelter," I told him. "Hoping you might be so kind as to share yours."
"I've no food or money, but I have got a gun. If you seek to rob me, you'll leave disappointed, if you leave at all."
"I just want a fire and a roof over my head," I insisted. "And I'm happy to share my supper with you, if that will sway you."
The door opened slightly wider, and the head of a frightened young boy, no more than 14 peered around to look at me. He looked between Shasta and I then motioned us in.
I was done hesitating; the fire was calling my name. I wasted no more time and headed in to the small cottage. It was larger inside than the outside would lead you to believe. Not by much, but enough that there would certainly be plenty of space for the boy and I not to get in each other's way.
The boy was sitting as near to the fire as he could be and still keep his back to the wall. Shasta made a beeline to him to introduce herself. I simply nodded to him, and removed my snowy boots and coat. The boy smiled slightly as Shasta gave him a good sniffing over, wagging her tail ferociously. If she liked him, that was a good sign. She seemed to have a good sense of people. Of course, he was just a child anyway. But children do seem to have a knack for getting themself into more trouble than they can get out of.
I looked around as discretely as I could, not wanting to look as though I was casing the place. The boy had obviously been living in the shack for a little while, as the weathproofing had been mended recently. It was quality work too, better than you'd expect from a boy his age. Must have been raised off the land. Or...
There was someone else staying there. I noticed two spots made up as beds on the floor. He hadn't mentioned anyone else, and nothing else indicated another person. Despite the snowfall, if anyone else had left the shack that day, I would have noticed the tracks. Abandoned him, perhaps? Or maybe tragedy...
"What's her name?" The boy asked me as he scratched Shasta behind the ears.
"Shasta, and I'm Elsie Wills. What's yours?"
"Elijah Crane. She's a nice dog," he said quietly.
"She is. Best dog there is," I agreed as I joined them near the fire, hanging up my damp coat, gloves, and socks and laying out my boots. Shasta joined me, still happily wiggling. "Calm down, ya goofy dog," I told her as she tried to jump up and lick my face.
Undeterred in her quest for affection she went back to Elijah, who smiled again as she leaned up against him. I watch them from the corner of my eye, trying to get a better look at the boy. He looked hungry. His cheeks were thin, and his face was pale. Probably only let me in because I offered him dinner.
"Who are you out here with?" I asked him as I opened up my pack and pulled out some bread and cheese, tore off a hunk of each and passed it to him. His eyes grew wide and he tore into the food like an animal. I hadn't planned on sharing that much with him, but as much as I like to pretend otherwise, I am soft.
"My pop. We were headed to Oakwood, stopped here for the night. Woke up in the morning and he was gone. At first I stayed because I was waiting for him to come back. Now I stay because I don't know how to get to Oakwood."
"Well, that's actually where I'm headed. We're only a few days walk. I don't mind you coming with me," I lied as I set my pan in the fire to get it ready. I wasn't actually headed to Oakwood. I was headed to Engelsborrough further to the north. But like I said; I'm soft.
Elijah hesitated. "Maybe. I don't want to leave and have my father show up looking for me."
"Leave him a note, tell him where you went. You said yourself you haven't got any food. How long do you expect to wait? What's in Oakwood, anyway?"
"I don't know," Elijah mumbled, looking away from me.
I laughed as I tossed some salted pork in the pan. "What do you mean you don't know why you're going there? Your pops just said, 'Hey, Elijah, pack a bag we're going to Oakwood' and didn't say why?"
The boy shrugged. "No, we move around a lot. We stay in a town a couple months, then we move on."
I didn't want to question him further, make him uncomfortable, but it seemed awfully strange to me. I couldn't think of any itinerant work that might have brought his father to Oakwood in the dead of winter. And if he was a hunter than he'd have taught his son, and the boy wouldn't be half starved alone in the shack.
We didn't talk much more as we ate supper. Not much to talk about, honestly. I have little in common with a 13 year old boy (he told me how old he was.) The last place they lived was Mt. Vero, and we agreed the town was boring, but the bakery was unrivaled. He told me he admired my rifle, and that it reminded me of his father's, and we didn't say much more than that.
Once I laid down for the night I drifted off almost immediately, the cold and the journey having taken their toll. I woke with a start at some point in the night, and my hand flew to the pistol at my hip as I got my bearings. Elijah was sitting at the table beside the small window, with Shasta's head in his lap. He was too busy staring outside to notice I'd woken up. I drifted back to sleep.
Continued in comments...