The mist lay thick and cold over the fields. George had run ahead of him in his endless search for the perfectly interesting scent.
Aaron stood still. There was absolutely no sound and he imagined he was in a cloud on top of a distant mountain, surveying a world covered with ice.
What mark would he leave on this world? What difference did he want to make? Did it matter what he wanted or what he did? Was there a point?
His parents never went to church or talked about God, and neither did most of his friends. An old parish church called the faithful few every Sunday morning, amidst much cursing from his father who was trying to sleep in.
Aaron had asked his father once if there was a God. He had scoffed and said that God was like the Easter Bunny, stories for children. Aaron had thought to ask why then so many grown-ups believed in God and not the Easter Bunny but his father was not in an approachable mood that morning. The business was not doing well.
