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untitled writing
Finian stared into the flames, his vision adjusted to the brightness of the fire. His face was warm, while his back and tail were painfully cold. He had hoped this fire would keep him warm throughout the night; he had hoped that he could finally get some sleep.

Finian shivered as he poked at the logs. There wasn't any more fuel; whatever could burn was already burning. Each successive poke roused the flames higher, but only for a moment.


She'd left him here, chained to a wall and locked inside their fetid squat. He started with enough fuel for two days, and food for one. His stomach growled when his body once again shook from the encroaching chill.

"Where are you...", he asked, his words fading into the cold, along with the heat from the flames.

Escape was hopeless. The squat was devoid of anything usable as a makeshift blade. His teeth were ill-suited to tearing flesh, let alone metal.

Finian sighed, resigning himself to death; a death that would take hours if he was lucky. She had never abandoned him this long. She had always returned within the day, and he was approaching the third. He assumed she was already dead.

He tugged at his coat, pulling it as close to his body as he could. He would sleep, and he prayed that the cold would take him in his dreams. Laying on the cold and filthy floor, he closed his eyes and held an image of the flames in his mind.

He didn't open his eyes when the fire was finally fed.


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