Oak tapped the side of the jar, watching the creature inside lifelessly bounce against the glass at the soft flick of his claw. Freddy the summertime grasshopper had succumbed to the cold at last and now rested still and stiff on the bottom of the jar. A deep frown creased the boy's lips as he slumped against the wall, crossing his arms. Hot, frustrated tears threatened to break the surface, but he struggled to keep them at bay. Freddy's death had been the final blow — so much had been going wrong in Crimson Dreams that the boy often didn't even know how to feel. Artemis was sick, a storm had come, his brother was trapped outside with the others — and now Freddy.
The brick hued wolf almost sank against the wall down to the floor and sobbed while he could do so privately, but noises from downstairs deterred him. Instead he righted his posture and peered down the railing to the floor below. There, Mama, Cambi and Amata were gathered around the fireplace, speaking in hushed voices whose words he had to strain to understand. They were talking of building a fire. Oak's frown grew shallow — he could help them! At last he smiled, all dark thoughts of the weather and his deceased pet drifting away. Amata spoke of firewood, and Oak leaned over the railing and called down to them. I'll get some chairs. He entered the next room, where two worn-out dining chairs rested forlornly against the wall. It would be difficult to get them downstairs by himself, but he could do it. He wove a burly arm under each of the chairs backs and lifted them off the floor. Awkwardly, he blundered with them down the hall, down the stairs, making an obscene amount of noise.
Once he'd reached the front room, Oak set the chairs down before the women with a huff and grinned. There you go, ladies... want me to pull them apart?
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