#extra fresh

The Penobscot River had always looked so tame and unassuming. 

But with winter, it had become a cold, mean thing - had grown its own strange set of teeth and pike-spiked back. 

And the stupid dog. 

There wasn’t ice, and there wasn’t snow, but there was still something there that kept Bill chilled to the bone once he had left the grips of the river. The dog he had gone in after laid by him, panting, sides heaving up and down as they found rest on the bank, a divot in a long line of rocky terrain. Bill only paid little mind, instead trying to focus on Eddie’s face above him, the light shifting over it to lighter and darker shades depending on when he blocked out the cloudy day that was exposed to him from that angle. His hand gripped tightly at Eddie’s wrist, for grounding purposes, and a shiver wracked through him like it was attempting a ransack. 

“I’m feh-feh-fuh--- fine.” The stutter was not an authentic one: not the one that had firmly curled itself under his tongue and made a home. This one was birthed from the warm body of stupidity and reckless, rash decision.  He licked his lips, found them cracked and wet, and lifted his other arm (leaden, heavy, resisting) to brush soaked bits of his hair from his eyes. “I’m here.” The words hitched, and he wanted to curl closer to Eddie, be basked in the warmth he could feel coming off him now that he had none of his own.

The dog sneezed, loud, that took the effort of its whole body, and Bill craned his head to look at it. It had reached its feet and its fur was sprawled over it, as if it had shaken off the incident. Bill stared at it, and after a moment, it stared back.

Then sat, and began to pant at a more leisure state, shivering every once in awhile but seemingly interested in them enough to stay in lieu of shelter.