🌙 Character: Flins
🌙Tags: short, soft, slice of his life, contents related to his anecdote
🌙 Summary: The White Dog was accustomed to regularly bringing bones to the Final Night Cemetery in exchange for a meal. That night, he seemed to catch a different side of the gloomy master of this place.
🌙 Word count: 1715w
Vietnamese version: Cuộc hội ngộ màu trắng
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Author's notes: Hello, I've come back for Mid Autumn Fes with a brand new short fic!
I adore Flins's anecdote with the white dog so much that I decided to make a story based on it. This is also a thank-you gift to Flins, for being nice and coming home on his banner.
Please enjoy this story (I hope you do!) 💛 Thank you for following my fic here. Happy mid autumn fes! 💛
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Soft Encounter
All the animals, large and tiny, on Paha Island did not dare to approach the Last Night Cemetery, especially when that person was around.
But for that one white dog, visiting the cemetery every few days had become a habit. After patrolling the island and uncovering some fascinating bones, he would carry them in his teeth to the Final Night Cemetery. There, that person would throw him some food as payment.
The dog once overheard that person talking to the ghosts and he mentioned his name as Flins. Wild dogs do not have names, although the sentries stationed around the island occasionally refer to him as The White Dog. So he told Flins that name, but all the man heard was a few enthusiastic "Woof! Woof!"
Flins did not care where the dog came from, or where he would go after receiving the food. The White Dog believed it was better that way. He dreaded Flins, but unlike the fish that swam away in terror when they saw the man near the surface, he was far more daring. In pursuit of food, he once crept inside his dark abode and ruined his prized collection of bone paintings. By that time, he was so hungry that he had no concern what Flins would do. With the bone in his teeth, the dog dashed away as soon as Flins's shadow emerged at the entrance.
The White Dog did not dare to spend much time in the graveyard. Neither did Flins decide to chase after him. But the dog remembered how, as a young pup, before being separated from his family in the Wild Hunt, his father taught him how to beg humans for food and reciprocate their generosity. So the next day, The White Dog collected another bone he stumbled upon and carried it to the Final Night Cemetery.
He soon found he could exchange bones for food at Flins's residence. That man's dinner was far from comparable to the leftovers the dog regularly found in Nasha Town, let alone what people in Frostmoon Enclave offered him. Yet for a stray dog like him, simply feeding his tummy was enough.
That day, The White Dog merrily carried the freshly collected bones to the Final Night Cemetery. He was confident that with this pile of bones, Flins would be pleased and would be more generous with him. As usual, he waited at the foot of the lighthouse.He strolled back and forth throughout the area, as if on patrol. The ghosts were still immersed in their own world from the past, so they barely noticed him. However, he had become accustomed to their presence, just as Flins' dark aurora no longer frightened the dog as it had before.
The White Dog waited and waited, but there was still no sight of that scary man. He had no idea what time it was, but he assumed that a day had gone by. Occasionally, a few more persons in uniform and holding lanterns would come seeking for Flins, and they would go together for a few days before returning. The last time the dog came to look for Flins, he ran across those humans here. Perhaps their mission went longer than expected. Thinking so, the dog continued to wait.
The White Dog had been resting for a while. He grew impatient and kept looking at the cemetery warehouse. He must have considered going in there and getting some food for himself. Yet for some reason, he remained where he was, staring out to sea and continued his wait. Then, about a day later, Flins appeared.
The tall man was soaked from the heavy rain. His lantern emitted a faint blue glow. There was this horrific smell that The White Dog had long engraved in his memories: the scent known as the Wild Hunt. Dark crimson liquid coated the man's garments, with a few drips dropping to the black ground. The White Dog could detect many odors mingled together. The smell of blood and corpses, whilst being rinsed away by the rain, somehow lingered on him still.
Flins strode by the bones on the floor, not even a glimpse at them. He collapsed into a chair near the shabby porch. The blue lantern stood silently on the table, shedding a dim light, much like his eyes as The White Dog mustered the bravery to look up. Flins gave the little creature a brief glance before softening his eyes back to their natural yellow.
“You have come for food again?” he asked the dog, sounding rather exhausted. “Wait… a moment…”
Just a moment…
And The White Dog sat obediently waiting, as far away from the table as he could, but enough to observe Flins. He slumped down, his dark hair covering the majority of his face, which was smeared with rain, mud and dried blood. He remained quiet, and his breathing was short.
The White Dog waited again. And he waited. He had witnessed enough sorrow to understand what was to come. He decided to take the risk and approach Flins. One step, then another, and another... Soon he was at the man's feet.
"Woof!"
The dog stroked his palm with a moist nose, as if in a soft wake-up call. Flins turned and casted his gaze down, awakening from a trance. His eyes had no pupils, simply a golden glow reminiscent of the recently renovated lighthouse above, the sole source of light on this pitch-black night. The White Dog backed away when he was awakened.
He uttered something in a strange language that the dog could not comprehend. Then he rose up and began to drag himself to the warehouse. He brought out a piece of cured meat and presented it to the dog. “Here is your payment. Now leave. I am not looking for company… At least for tonight…”
Flins seized the lantern and disappeared into his chamber. The White Dog stared for a long time. Something told him that it was a different night than others, and that he ought to stay here. Nonetheless, he could not go anywhere in this rain. At last, he decided to drag the mound of bones he had brought and stack them in front of Flins's door.
The White Dog fell asleep in the rain without realizing it. When he awoke, he noticed Flins observing him from the door.
"My my. Have you been laying here all night in the cold?"
He seemed to be considerably better than the night before. The man always recovered at an unusual pace.
"Woof!" The White Dog leaped up, wagging his tail as if greeting his owner. Flins gazed at him, intrigued by his peculiar behavior.
"Haven't you collected your payment?" He turned his head at the neighboring piece of cured meat.
"Woof!"
The White Dog rushed for the piece of meat, snatched it, and pulled it to Flins' feet. He even raced back and forth among the bones, as if he expected the man to pick them up immediately.
Flins lowered himself down. “Let's take a look, shall we?... Hmmm, yes. These bones are indeed exquisite. You selected them wisely, my little pal."
For a moment, he extended his hand above The White Dog's head and hesitated. The dog stared at the man. He gazed at the dog again. Then his hand was drawn back.
Flins gathered up the bones and placed them in a box to keep them organized. He was astonished to find The White Dog following him still. In normal circumstances, the dog would have gone away as soon as he received his payment. Sitting under the lighthouse, the man pondered for a bit before saying to the dog:
"I'm afraid I still owe you a thank you. It was you who woke me up last night..." He left it there, assuming that a dog would not comprehend. And… What was he doing? When did he grow so attached to this dog that he would talk to him in this manner?
"Woof?" He gazed up at his seat, the White Dog. Flins had returned to his typical grim demeanor that had prompted animals to avoid him. However, the dog likely saw it as a positive indication that he was recovering.
“I suppose it's only fair if I hand you another piece of meat, since you’ve been guarding my door all night."
That being said, Flins took out extra food for the dog. With great joy, the dog snatched up his treat and fled.
The Lightkeeper stared as the white tail vanished beyond the worn and weathered tombstones. There was still a trace of warmth in his palm, where the dog’s nose had brushed the night before. Oddly enough, when he was engulfed in the cold and darkness after a chaotic operation,that modest warmth awoke him and reminded him that he was still here. That he could not truly close his eyes and rest yet.
Several days later, the White Dog reappeared at the Final Night Cemetery. This time, he was accompanied this time by a pack of five puppies, and another adult dog at the end of that fluffy line. They all had bones in their mouths.
“I was not informed of your family,” Flins looked at them, then at the cured meat he was holding. "It appears that there will be less meat on my plate tonight."
"Woof woof!" In front of the lighthouse, on the deserted ground, the White Dog dropped his bone. His pups did the same, then they huddled close once more. The White Dog family abruptly created so much noise in the otherwise quiet graveyard that the deceased turned and gazed at them.
"All well, then. More paws would mean an expansion to my collection of bones.”
Flins gave in at last. He watched as the white cotton balls fought over the cuts of meat he had divided among the pups. The White Dog approached him, pressing his head against his hand this time.
“After all these days of wandering, you’ve chosen to stay here, huh? Now that you have a family of your own, even the puppies have learned to bring bones here thanks to you."
“Woof!” The White Dog sat up straight, puffing out his chest with great pride.
“My compliment to you, little friend.”
Flins chuckled. For the first time, his black-gloved hand slowly stroked the top of the dog’s head. Having a few four-legged companions around for a while was not such a bad thing after all.
