HAWKINS
Hawkins ate the last of the chutney, wiped the slobber from his chin, muscled into his heavy duty parka, and crawled out into the dismissive fury of the storm. Ice brackets slammed into his legs, torso, and head. Tongues of sleet licked mockingly at his slitted eyes. His ears were broken by the storm’s howling laughter. His elbows turned blue with fear. Nevertheless, forward, forward, forward he went, determined beyond belief to rescue the puppy. By some miracle he reached the bank of the river, where, after the storm abated, he decorated the landscape as a lifeless human icicle for weeks.
Meanwhile, the puppy romped, dashing hither and there to yon and back all around the warm cottage’s interior, playing with his new mistress, the Storm Queen.
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