There was a dog loose in the woods.
Sometimes I hear it gnaw on white wood.
Yesterday I saw it by the pond. It waved at me.
I would never dare touch its scales.
The windmills cut the air into breathable portions. The slight humming of its wings helped me sleep at night. My home was not untouched by the fog but the endless night showed mercy. The trees let the moon stare down on me. Pale white light fell on the fields. Whatever grew here would not keep me alive for long.
I was woken up by the stench of burnt meat. Outside on the fields was another burning corpse. The fire ate away her flesh. The dog waved at me.
I was outside, reaping the ripe blisters from the fields, when the dog came crawling up to me, flipped on his back. Poor thing. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Three weeks since I’ve seen the dog. It was on a walk through the woods I found its corpse.
Maybe it was time to leave this place.