ISKRA
Feeling like he's working alongside an improved version of Goose, Iskra considers, for the first time, that perhaps he should ask the gods for help making their bond something more. He thought maybe it'd come with time, or maybe he cares for the dog more than is returned, which is why it never happened. This fear he's put to bed many times, although with so many sporting companions, it does make him wonder sometimes. Although he has never felt like they've missed out on anything because of it, it would be nice to have a better channel of communication with the dog. More than anything, and what will ultimately make Iskra do it, is the improved lifespan for his best friend.
Deimos is not Goose thoiugh, and the comparison doesn't stretch much further than four legs and his overall shape. Still, Iskra amuses himself a little with the idea of Goose being supercharged, and then promptly remembers how difficult the ordinary dog already is and swiftly decides better of it.
"Oh, the butcher," Iskra appraises as he stops, Deimos already at work stacking wood. "Know him too," he says idly as he stacks more firewood in his arms and shifts it around to join the offering pile for the man. "Or I should say, Goose knows him." Iskra grins, recalling several times the butcher has offered up choice cuts or bones in passing. "A good man," Iskra declares as he he gets his sled back in hand. "I got enough for one more stop then I'm out," he informs Deimos, his sled becoming wonderfully lighter.
Deimos is not Goose thoiugh, and the comparison doesn't stretch much further than four legs and his overall shape. Still, Iskra amuses himself a little with the idea of Goose being supercharged, and then promptly remembers how difficult the ordinary dog already is and swiftly decides better of it.
"Oh, the butcher," Iskra appraises as he stops, Deimos already at work stacking wood. "Know him too," he says idly as he stacks more firewood in his arms and shifts it around to join the offering pile for the man. "Or I should say, Goose knows him." Iskra grins, recalling several times the butcher has offered up choice cuts or bones in passing. "A good man," Iskra declares as he he gets his sled back in hand. "I got enough for one more stop then I'm out," he informs Deimos, his sled becoming wonderfully lighter.
Chopping my wood, but this tree’s too hard
Chopping my wood, my axe isn’t sharp
Chopping my wood, split through the heart and it tears me apart
Chopping my wood, my axe isn’t sharp
Chopping my wood, split through the heart and it tears me apart
