In the Forests of New France
You take a deep breath, eyes still firmly closed. Sleeping in the open is not allowing you to rest, you surmise, and so try to imagine yourself at home, nestled comfortably into a straw mattress.
The image enters your mind easily. Mother is at the hearth, quickly stirring whatever it is that boils in the large cast iron pot one final time. You are sitting on your straw mattress, legs crossed beneath yourself, watching intently. You remember the scene from life, though at the time you could not have been more than ten or twelve years old. Father was out; you couldn't recall where, and so filled in that gap in your fantasy. He must have been out chopping wood; perhaps the supply beside the stove was running low. Severin must have been with him, for your slightly older brother was gone as well. The old watch dog slept by the stove...
You must have fallen asleep somewhere in that sequence of imagining, for suddenly the gentle old dog was no longer his familiar self, but a snarling mass of fur and bared teeth. You still sat on the bed, but the dog approached you, nightmarish, moving slowly. The gentle brown eyes glowed, red and harsh. The thick black-and-tan fur was matted, reddened with what you can only assume to be blood.
The dog leaps. Suddenly, your old wound from the earlier dream reappears, long before the dog's jaws make contact. You jolt awake, struggling to catch your breath, eyes still closed as to not remind yourself that you are in the open. For once, at least, you awoke before actual contact was made.
The image enters your mind easily. Mother is at the hearth, quickly stirring whatever it is that boils in the large cast iron pot one final time. You are sitting on your straw mattress, legs crossed beneath yourself, watching intently. You remember the scene from life, though at the time you could not have been more than ten or twelve years old. Father was out; you couldn't recall where, and so filled in that gap in your fantasy. He must have been out chopping wood; perhaps the supply beside the stove was running low. Severin must have been with him, for your slightly older brother was gone as well. The old watch dog slept by the stove...
You must have fallen asleep somewhere in that sequence of imagining, for suddenly the gentle old dog was no longer his familiar self, but a snarling mass of fur and bared teeth. You still sat on the bed, but the dog approached you, nightmarish, moving slowly. The gentle brown eyes glowed, red and harsh. The thick black-and-tan fur was matted, reddened with what you can only assume to be blood.
The dog leaps. Suddenly, your old wound from the earlier dream reappears, long before the dog's jaws make contact. You jolt awake, struggling to catch your breath, eyes still closed as to not remind yourself that you are in the open. For once, at least, you awoke before actual contact was made.