"Hangdog" Chapter 1

HANGDOG


I. Frost
         When the dramatic sunset hues of autumn have given way to somber browns, the most delicate of frosts begins to appear, heralding the frigid winter. Like a whisper across every blade of grass and fallen leaf, that first, icy blanket may come and go unnoticed. The smallest sliver of the dawning sun chases it away, long before Men have risen to see it. But this first frost is not overlooked by everyone—especially not by a dog who has spent the night sleeping beside a cabin.
         Scuff reached his forelimbs out in front of him, settling into a long, glorious stretch and yawning unabashedly. When he should have been easing happily into his morning, he instead pushed his paws right out into the ice-covered grass. He jerked away with an annoyed groan, condensing himself into the warm patch he had slept in. The dog quietly contemplated his usual morning route up the side of the cabin, but the prognosis was bleak. It became depressingly apparent that, in order to get to his Man and consequently to his breakfast, he would be forced to walk through that dreadful frost. Everything around him was still gray and sleeping—it would be some time yet until the sun would change that. Before he could settle back down and wait for the dawn, a familiar, chestnut-coated dog appeared in the gray half-light. Ordo was the butcher's old dog, and every inch of his rotund figure showed it. His large, hanging  ears were elevated with excitement as he approached.
         “Hullo, Scuff! Fantastic morning, don't ya think? It's high time winter came around, if you ask me! Ho ho!” He sauntered forward happily, the frosty ground cover crunching beneath his paws. Scuff wagged his tail in greeting, but continued to survey the ground around him. He tentatively reached out, pawing at the offending frost.
         “Easy for you to say, Ordo. With a belly like that, you could survive for weeks in the High North.” He pulled his paw back to safety, wrinkling his nose and squinting up at the lightening sky. “I think I'll avoid the cold as much as possible, thank you very much.”
         The other dog's graying muzzle opened with more hearty chuckling. “Ho ho! As you wish, my friend.” With that, he disappeared around the back of Scuff's cabin, heading north to the fields just beyond it. Barren and dismal, the dead remainders of that year's grain crop were frost-laden as well. As the older dog's crackling footsteps eventually faded away, Scuff busied himself with biting at a flea on his left haunch. The only good thing about winter was that he would finally get a break from those horrid little pests.  A bird called quietly from the ancient trees behind him, followed several more, and soon one call was indistinguishable from another in the cacophony. The dog's pointed ears pricked with interest as the people of the village began to wake, too—he could hear the clanging of their kettles in the row of cabins on his left. To his right, through the wall of his own cabin, he heard his Man yawning and crossing the floor. Thoughts of food and indoor comfort had him squirming with impatience and he threw a look over his shoulder to the west at every taunting noise from inside. He was being ridiculous, of course, because before long he would be belly-deep in snow. But as he'd said to that harebrained Ordo, winter wasn't here yet, and he liked it that way.
         And then, to his utmost delight, the fourth gaze over the ancient treetops revealed the warm, golden sun stretching its rays through the bare branches. Birds flitted and spiraled in every direction, happy too at the world waking up. As silently as it had appeared, the glittering frost faded away. Scuff was flooded with relief and shot forward, going the five feet along the side of the cabin without touching the ground. He took a sharp right around the corner and scrambled up the four narrow steps, scratching wildly at the door. A whine escaped his throat during all the commotion, and he was immediately embarrassed, folding down his ears.  Don't act like a puppy, you idiot, he scolded, you'll eat soon enough.
         As always, Scuff could hear a few heavy, deliberate steps behind the door as his Man crossed to open it. A rush of warmth and familiar smells billowed around the dog like a cloud as the man smiled down at him, beckoning him into their home. Scuff rushed in and threw himself onto his Man, planting his forepaws squarely on his broad chest. He wagged his tail jubilantly as the jolly, grinning man mussed his fur and scratched behind his ears, babbling an endless stream of praises. They'd only been apart overnight, but that didn't matter.
         “Oh, Scuff me boy! Good morning, good morning! My, yer ears are cold. Gettin' t' be chilly out there, en't it? Old lady winter's comin' round! 'Bout time you started sleepin' inside again, I wager.”
         Scuff swelled with excitement and whipped himself around in a circle as he fell back onto all four paws. His Man laughed, forever grinning, and the dog smiled back, panting and wagging his tail as always. That was the only other good thing about winter.
         Greetings  finished, Scuff scrambled across the small cabin to the empty bowl in the corner. It was clean—he was well cared for—and he could almost see himself in it, aside from the several dents that twisted his reflection into something almost comical. He looked up and to his right, where his Man was fishing around in the blackened kettle that hung over the fire. A big, broad man, he possessed solid arms and weathered skin simply from daily living. Though his own work was infrequent, he never declined to help a fellow villager, and was well-liked. Thick black curls hung down over his face as he searched the pot, looking for the choicest bits of last night's stew. For a few moments, the only sounds in the cabin were of the feeble, untended fire and of Scuff licking the drool off his chin. “Ahh, here we are,” the man finally expounded, lifting out a thick, meaty bone and showing it to the patient dog. “Will this do ya, buddy?”  A happy bark was his answer. He dropped the aromatic morsel into Scuff's dish with a clang, and the dog got to work. It took some time and a thorough chewing to get every morsel, but that was half the fun.
         Some time later, the sun had fully risen and Scuff was belly-up on the rug, luxuriating in the golden warmth. His tail wagged sleepily from time to time as he heard noise from behind the cabin—his Man was there, cutting more firewood. How wonderful it would be tonight to be allowed in the house again! Though he did love seeing the stars at night and smelling the crisp, cool air as he drifted off to sleep, being inside meant he was one step closer to his Man. And of course, one step closer to his breakfast as well. The dog groaned happily and licked his lips, his forelimbs pointing  toward the ceiling, paws hanging limp. He would have been perfectly content with doing this exact thing for the remainder of the day.
         Suddenly, his Man threw the cabin door open with a bang, sending Scuff nearly a foot into the air. Panicked, he eventually found his footing and stared up at the man expectantly. All at once, his tail was wagging while his heart still pounded madly in his ears. An awakening like that was rude, of course, but that didn't keep it from being exciting!
         “Oy, Scuff! Off to the pub fer lunchin'!” The huge man wiped sweaty tendrils of hair from his brow and set his ax against the wall before turning and going out. Scuff, recovered by now, trotted after him compliantly, wagging all the way.
         A chill breeze whipped though his fur as they started on their way to the village pub, and crisp, battered leaves tumbled across the rocky street. Scuff lifted his muzzle high to sniff at the air—it smelled comfortably familiar, but every scent now carried a fresh, cold undertone. The whole world smelled like winter was coming. From the doorways of the houses they passed on their left, the two were greeted warmly by men and dogs alike. The man waved and said “hullo,” and the dog barked back once or twice, but he knew now was no time for extended socialization. His Man was hungry and any diversion would simply be rude.
         The businesses of the town were soon in front of them, at a right angle to the row of houses. Even on such a brisk day, everything was a blur of sound and activity. Scuff leapt to the side, narrowly dodging several terrified chickens and the two boys chasing them. Their fat mother was behind them, holding her apron in one hand and a basket in the other, screeching instructions at them. Coming from the other direction, a gray dog that Scuff didn't know was galloping with abandon, a loaf of bread in his mouth. Angry men followed. It was utter chaos.
         From the market came the yells of frustrated hagglers and spirited purveyors, the latter of which had traveled in from nearby towns. It was the best time of year for them, as everyone was trying to purchase all they could before the snows came and brought life to a standstill. The village itself, Scourvek, produced its own grains and beef in the fields past Scuff's home, as the colder climate of the region was good for growing little else. Even now, Scuff could see the Cattleman trying to barter with the visiting traders, offering them what meat he had left after selling the best stuff to the butcher. And, of course, there was Ordo, directly under the Cattleman's table, drooling fondly at the remnants of beef. He was the kind of dog who couldn't care less where his master was, unless of course he was near good food. He must have been heading to the pastures that morning, looking to pester the Cattleman long before the market opened. Ordo had known very well what day it was and that several those giant, boring creatures would shortly turn into something delicious. Scuff barked happily in the portly dog's  direction, but the bustle was too loud and the dog was too entranced. Before he could try harder, Scuff's man called to him, as he was already at the threshold of the pub.
         Much to Scuff's relief, the pub was always quieter than the market. The people of Scourvek weren't the kind that got into fights or out of hand. Of course, disputes over goods or property of even women broke out occasionally, as they do everywhere. But as strong, simple, levelheaded people, every one of them would rather sip their drinks in peace than put any energy into being disgruntled. This made the barkeeper's job easy, and he hailed Scuff's man with a wide grin.
         “Hullo, Gemrick! Hullo, Scuff!”
         The dog wagged at the sound of his name and trotted habitually to Gemrick's usual seat at the bar. It was still a bit early for lunch and most of the town was at the market, so the tables he passed were close to deserted. As always, Scuff settled between the stool and the bar where he would be beneath his Man's feet and in the way of falling scraps. Gemrick sat down stiffly above him and sighed with contentment. Chunks of dried mud flaked from his mammoth boots as he settled them on the stool's rung and the dog below flicked his ears in annoyance. Above his head, Scuff could hear the short, skinny Barman drying the inside of a glass. He could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke.
         “Rough morning, friend? You look far too tired for it to be before noon! Must've been getting a head start winter like everyone else. Me, I haven't gotten much done yet. Too many hungry people to feed! Start you off with a drink?”
         “A beer'll be fine, Icah. I been gettin' me firewood set, yeh know. It's always harder work than I'm expectin', heh heh. But it's good ter stretch out me old arms.”
         Icah agreed and set to pouring Gemrick's beer as Scuff lowered is head to the floor between his paws. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched several people enter the pub and take seats near the door. The two men and their wives were chattering so intensely about the price of potatoes that they hardly acknowledged when Icah called, “I'll be with you shortly!” Leaning in close to Gemrick and setting the beer between them, the bartender whispered with a frown, “Frazzled market-goers... Mark my words, I won't be getting a tip out of them!” In an instant, he'd thrown a smile back onto his face and whisked over to the market goers'  table, the occupants of which carried on with their jabbering for a good minute before they even noticed. They were plain, crude folk, peasants in the very sense of the word, like the vast majority of Scourvek's population. Their heavy, square faces and beady eyes were the norm of the region, along with the standard squat body type and sturdy limbs. The very first settlers of Scourvek and the towns around it had apparently trekked from native lands in the High North, but after so many generations, their descendants still possessed that intrinsic hardiness.
         Gemrick took a tremendous gulp of his beer and his ever-faithful dog continued to glance idly out the open pub door. He watched a little boy with bare feet come careening past, chased closely by an older girl brandishing a stick. Not an inch of their bodies was free from grime, a triumphant symbol of their frivolity and still-carefree lives. Like everyone else in the village (save a few specialists),  one day they too would toil in the grain fields, doing their part for the greater good of Scourvek. Many of these laborers continued to scurry through the village, arms full of produce and supplies. Dogs roamed lackadaisically between them, immune to the frenzy of haggling and preparation. Scuff knew almost every one of them, of course—at least by scent if not also by name. Most of the dogs followed an owner or a family and some had ropes thrown around their necks, but a few others sat aside. They belonged to no one. They were shabbier, skinnier, but not necessarily unhappy or a nuisance. There simply were not enough villagers for every dog to belong to a household, and those thrown aside were left to their own devices. But the people of Scourvek never forgot the strays, throwing scraps out their doors for them at night. Dogs simply meant too much to them for any one to be completely neglected.
         By then, Gemrick had apparently started on some type of food because a large chunk of it abruptly collided with Scuff's left paw. It might have been beef or bread, or maybe even some sort of vegetable, but he swallowed it down so quickly that he didn't have time to notice. Whatever it was, it was good enough to warrant an extended licking of his paw, just in case some of the sauce lingered. This distracted him from his dog-watching and he almost missed the very one he was subconsciously searching for. Her name was Chesha, and Scuff looked  up just in time to watch her trot past the pub, heading left, away from the market. Without a second thought, Scuff sprang from the floor, bumping into his Man's heavy boots without even noticing. By the time Gemrick himself even realized what had happened (“Oy! Take it easy, Scuff!”), the dog was out the door. He bounded after his dearest friend, barking excitedly for her to wait.
         The dogs' tails were a blur as the two came face to face, bouncing and circling each other with excitement. Scuff's muzzle was open in a wide grin as he threw out a paw and socked her playfully on the shoulder. She returned the favor with a head butt to his chest, sending Scuff reeling and both of them into fits of laughter. She had always been the stronger one, and they both knew it.
         “Chesha! Where have you been all month? The leaves fell and you weren't here to chase them with me! I jumped up and got one mid-air last week... it was great. It really was.”
         The other dog's eyes twinkled with fondness as the two turned to walk back toward he pub. “Damn, I'm sorry I missed that. My man and I made the trip to Fennen to speak to the fishermen... his boy will be old enough to start learning a trade this spring.” She turned her head toward her family's home, her ears drooping ever so slightly. The breeze whipped her fur backwards, parting it along her spine and exposing her skin. She shivered.
         “You'll miss him, won't you?” Scuff asked with concern. But when she turned back to look at him, her happy eyes told him all he needed to know.
         “I'll be alright, Scuff. Especially with you around.”
         Chesha was a gorgeous dog, and next to her, Scuff always felt terribly drab. Her coat was coal-black, dense and springy. It shimmered in the sunlight from her elegantly thin muzzle to her thick, curled tail. Scuff's own shaggy, sand-colored fur was rather rough and little to brag about, but that meant nothing to Chesha. Her humbleness was one of the reasons her cared for her so much.
         Noon was approaching and the temperature rose ever so slightly as the dogs conversed, lying beneath the pub's window. The place was brimming with hungry market-goers by then, and Scuff was happy to be out of the way. A large wagon being pulled by a chestnut horse appeared from somewhere within the market. It was full of empty crates and barrels—the trader driving it had done extremely well today and his face made that obvious. Looking satisfied with himself, the man hopped down from the driver's seat and hitched the horse before entering the pub. The horse, an already formidable creature to a dog, seemed utterly colossal to the Scuff from where he lay in the dirt. He sat up and stretched out his rear limbs before he spoke.
         “Excuse me, sir. Where have you traveled from?”
         There was no response. Completely still, the noble creature stared forward, his thick, muscular neck arching over Scuff's head. Horses, he thought to himself. Why do they always have to be so impossible? He spoke again, louder this time. “Excuse me!”
         Still nothing.
         “I'm sorry to bother you, but I only wanted to ask wh--”
         “I have a name,” the creature finally boomed, without giving Scuff so much as a glance. He flicked his lengthy tail in annoyance. “They call me... Stonehoof.”
         It was a good thing Stonehoof paid the dog no attention, because Scuff couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. What a ridiculous name. Some “Stonehoof”... he's got metal shoes on just like all the others. Chesha must have been thinking the same thing, because he heard her stifle a giggle behind him. Still, there was a way of doing these things, and if Scuff was to learn anything about the outside world, he had to follow the code of these self-absorbed animals.
         “Stonehoof! What a name that is. I bet you can crush any vermin that dares get in your way. Why, you could probably mash my skull right into this dirt, couldn't you?”
         “Of course,” Stonehoof asserted, huffing with irritation. “It would be like stepping upon an ant. I would not even notice it.”
         Scuff smiled to himself. He was getting somewhere. There was not a single being on land, air, or sea, that did not adore hearing about himself.  Using this to his advantage was simply too easy.
         “Incredible!” the dog intoned with nauseating sweetness and adoration. “You and your ancestors are glorious creatures indeed to be so strong. Tell me, sir, where does a magnificent horse like yourself hail from? Surely you are endlessly celebrated there.”
         “Indeed I am,” the horse replied, though he was almost certainly lying. “I was born and trained in the esteemed stables at Rynndale, where I continue to reside.”
         “I've heard it's beautiful there. It's to the south? How far?”
         “Five days' journey for me. An average horse takes a week,” he sneered, squinting his watery, brown eyes in disgust. Chesha snickered again, but kept her mouth shut.
         “Such speed is truly enviable, sir.” Scuff was quivering with excitement, now that he was finally close to some information. Being a one-town dog became awfully monotonous at times. “Did you see anything interesting on this particular journey?”
         Scuff waited patiently as Stonehoof pondered over his memories of the trip. The dog suspected that most of them were probably memories of himself and how “spectacular” he was. Several crisp leaves cartwheeled past, a bird called, people in the pub broke into raucous laughter. Then finally, the horse spoke.
         “As we approached this village from the south through the forest, there seemed to be an oddly large number of buzzards overhead. It was stranger still when we found no dead creature that could have been attracting them.”
         Scuff's tail had been wagging triumphantly at his conquest of the horse's pigheadedness, but instantly it froze. His whole body went rigid, his ears pricked high and his nails digging into the earth.
         “Buzzards?”
         He looked over his shoulder at Chesha and found his emotions mirrored in her expression. The wind wailed past their ears, whipping at their fur as their eyes locked. If Stonehoof had continued talking, neither of them heard it. They had heard much more than they had expected from this steed from out of town. Buzzards without death could mean only one thing:
         They were simply waiting for it.