Worry assailed me the more I walked and the colder the air felt. I wasn’t lying when I said Marlowe had lots of fur to keep him warm, but if the temperature kept dropping, he could be in danger. And what if he did reinjure his paw? Or hurt something else?
Being wounded and lost in this cold was a deadly combination.
“Marlowe!” I yelled, desperation and fear clawing the back of my throat. The memory of how Archer looked driving out herehaunted me. He blamed himself for Marlowe running off, and if anything happened, he’d blame himself for that too…
Something moved up ahead, just beyond the weak beam of my flashlight. I froze in my tracks and lifted the light higher, trying to see.
“Marlowe?” I called. “Here, boy.”
Nothing answered, and a dog did not appear. But I knew something had been there. I started forward, and a bark cut through the night.
Marlowe!
“Marlowe! It’s me, boy. Toby. Come here,” I called, rushing in the direction I’d heard him.
He yipped again, and my heart started pounding as I worried maybe he wasn’t able to get to me.
“I’m coming,” I called. “I’ll find you!”
My shoe slipped on the freshly fallen snow, and I tumbled over, my pants getting instantly wet. Ignoring it, I jumped back up and rushed forward again.
The dog went quiet even when I called out, but I jogged on, knowing I was close. After minutes of not finding him, I turned to look back. The truck was nowhere to be seen, and the road was likely covered in snow.
Cupping my hand around my mouth, I called, “Archer.”
But the only reply was the wind.
I didn’t see his flashlight either, and I wondered just how far I’d run and what part of the farm I was on.
An inkling of panic tapped on the base of my neck, whispering that I could be lost too. I’d survive far less time than a dog.
“Quit being so dramatic, Toby,” I told myself. “You’re at Hodge Farm, not some remote forest.” I might not have been here for many years, but I grew up running around this farm and I was certain I could find my way back.
Woof!
Any anxiety I felt disappeared with that bark, and hope had me going forward again. “Marlowe!” I hollered, then yelled his name several more times.
Up ahead, a massive looming shape halted my search, and a fissure of fear slid down my back until I realized what it was.
The old oak.
Hershel and Beatrice’s tree.
What at first appeared as shadow and bone, with its knotted bare branches winding like black veins through the cool wintry sky, now seemed more of a silhouette of strength, standing guard over the farm during a harsh, unforgiving night. A witness to all of nature’s trials and tribulations, a landmark to all who know her, and a beacon of love in the middle of lonely, barren land.
The fear building up inside me seemed small now compared to its impressive size, and instead of lost, I suddenly felt at home.
I moved forward, studying the silvery sheen the frost gave the branches beneath the moonlight. The wind still whipped over the land, but it was quieter here as if the large oak buffered its intensity. The bundles of mistletoe swayed high on the branches, looking not at all like parasites but flocked ornaments placed there to celebrate the season.
Just like a few days before, I felt the pull of the oak, the way it hummed with something I couldn’t quite understand. Something that maybe did feel a lot like magic.
Shaking off the formidable spell it cast, I focused on the area around it to see if Marlowe was anywhere in sight.
Woof!
My head snapped up in time to see the dog on the other side of the tree.
“Marlowe!” I called, and he turned and took off, disappearing behind the trunk and melting into the shadows.
