The day was mild, though winter was far from over. Heath stood in the ankle deep snow, eyes wandering out into the forest that surrounded his new home. Salt lingered in the air, leaving a solid trail that would lead him to the beach. Bells he had placed in the trees seasons past still rang at the wind’s persuasion, and chimed idly in the background. He could figure that he had been living in the cabin for about a month now, though he still stayed in the stable loft if his work there took longer then he had anticipated. Since he no longer woke there each morning the work piled higher then ever, and Heath fought to catch up with it. His time was mostly spent with the horses themselves, and so the other chores had taken a back seat.
His tasks remained at the cabin this day, and Heath had fixed the doorknob's squeak and how worked on the dwindling stack of firewood. They burned more then Heath would have once found necessary, but in the past he only had himself to think of. His mate was frail, her coat not made for the brutal winters of the outdoors and the north. The sweaters she wore only protected her so much, and with the chance that winter’s storms had yet to laid to rest in spring’s rise, Heath piled the uniformed logs next to the house in easy reach from the door.
With a huff the male walked to the stump, placing a piece of cut wood on end and then picking up the axe. A single solid swing sliced the piece in half, and the male took the up and threw them into a new pile that would soon be ready to stack neatly with the rest. Again he chose a new piece, and let the mindless work fill the space where thoughts of war and Jac would plague.
300+