Whitefish River a crack in the mirror

The bundle of black did shiver when he heard an echoed woof, but he did not lift his head; his ears slicked back against it, and his tail went from his hocks to his belly. Skaro hungrily sniffed at the surface of the ice, flicking his tongue across his lips - filled with anticipation perhaps, or nervous confusion - and then, when the stranger gave him some pointed advice, he finally lifted his head to look upon her.

She was... Odd. Not in the same way he was odd. A mutt could always identify other mutts, but this wasn't one of his kind. The girl was more adept with the wiles of winter than himself, so he was happy to defer to her knowledge. Skaro took another look at the ice, placed one paw and then the other side-by-side upon the slippery surface, and gave a little hop. There was a crack, but it did not give.

The boy would not be disheartened by the difficulty, or the cold. He tried again, swooping down upon the same location with the same two-paw punch, and a segment of the ice finally broke away. The river flowed freely beneath - which Skaro greedily lapped up. Not a word was spoken to the young stranger, no thanks and no greeting, for he was too busy drowning his thirst.