Dirty Paws
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“Greetings my lady.” He greeted with a tip of his head, his voice the rumble of a distant storm. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, opened it again, and then closed it again. He looked away, his jaw set tightly. He sat suddenly, hanging his head as though the words would come to him from somewhere between the guilt and disappoint in himself that currently occupied his thoughts.
“I have failed you.” He said after a long pause, closing his eyes with his neck arched downward in shame. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, was far too ashamed to even think of it. He exhaled slowly, meditatively and watched the fog of his hot breath form and dissipate in the frigid late Autumn air. It was going to be cold this winter, he could feel it. An image of the boy flashed briefly in his mind, of his body half buried in the snow, his skin pulled taught over his bones from starvation and his toes black and gangrenous from frostbite. He wondered if the princess would meet a fate similar to the one he had imagined for his nephew- his son as far as Dagan was concerned- and could feel hot tears stinging the backs of his eyes. What had he done?
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