He hates that he relies so heavily on his father’s teachings, but it’s the only reason he’s survived. Father Hart spent so much time teaching young Angel which berries were okay to eat, how to make jerky, everything he needed to know. It was all packed in next to the scripture readings, next to the gruesome beatings. But it’s kept him alive, and he thanks whatever merciless God for that.
Angel has this bow and arrow on his back, and the yellow brown dog that walks next to him adds a second line of defense against the dead. But Pooh, as he’s been so carefully named, is a shit guard dog against humans. It’s the trust that everyone is as good as Angel, a mistake the human has made too many times to count.
Just before the sun rises over the hill, he wakes, begins packing his things, and, just as he is about to leave, he’s met with cold metal against his back. Pooh is sitting there, sloppy tongue lolling out of his mouth, tail wagging excitedly. Angel silently curses him, immediately takes it back in his prayers lest this go awfully wrong.
“--- Look-k, I’ve, I’ve go-got food. Y-you can, you can have it-t, really. I, I ca-can ev-even sh-show y-you where, where there’s some, some extra me-meat left. Ju-just... do-don’t h-hurt-t the, the d-dog. He’s, he’s in-innocent.”
