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A flurry of snow swept into the hut as Ezekiel pushed the door open, stamping snow from his boots with a heavy heart. The dog's lifted their heads to stare expectantly at the boy, tails thumping weakly against the rough floorboards. They were shadows of the healthy hunters they had once been, slat-sided and dull eyed. But happy, still, to see their master. The knife was heavy against his side as he knelt, stroking Kilbucks head with a gloved hand. “Good dog.” he murmured, and the tail wagged a little faster for the praise. Juno nosed at his fingers from where she lay beside Kilbuck, mouth open in a hopeful pant. He ran a hand over her coat, feeling the ridges of her spine and the sharp edges of her ribs. It hurt him to watch them waste away like this. They'd grown up alongside him, hunted with him, and they meant more to him than anything else. And he meant to kill them, because this was what he was reduced to. It was what the aching hunger in his gut urged him to do, and what his