Grim

Paul finds the dog in the woods, at the edge of the river, not far from the waterfall that cascades down the side of the mountain. The murky water has veins of red running through it from the dog’s blood. The animal is too big for him to carry on his own, so he fetches the sled from the house. He half expects the dog to have passed by the time he gets back, but when he lays a hand on its chest there is still lingering warmth in its skin and he can feel a faint rise and fall from its labored breathing. The dog’s mass fills the sled. It’s the size of a small pony, with thick, shaggy black hair matted into clumps around the wound.

Their stable is empty of horses – has been for years – so he puts the dog there. He lines one of the stalls with old blankets and places the dog gently upon them. It’s a little chilly. Fall has yet to come into its own yet, but there’s still enough of a chill in the air that he feels the need to fetch a space heater from the closet and plug it in.

Once the dog is settled, he fetches a pail of water, rags, and their first aid kit. He’s not very good with this sort of thing – caring for living things – but he tries his best. The least he can do is clean the wound, put some salve on it, and wrap it as good as possible.

He doesn’t expect the dog to survive the night, but at least he tried.