The Saviors of Whistling Wood

Prolouge

March 18, 1779
Phillip

Phillip struggled to carry the little, white, wrestling puppy in his arms.

"Stay still, boy! Goodness!" Phillip laughed. His hat fell on the ground, and he crouched down, cradling White'Bone in one of his arms. He grabbed the hat brushed the dirt off, and replaced back on his head.

"White'Bone, please calm down," Phillip cooed, and he could feel White'Bone slowly relaxing in his arms. "It's going to be okay," he whispered. "It's going to be okay."

Although, the truth was, it was. . not going to be okay. The talk about the American Revolution has been rising greatly, and Phillip had noticed others were getting themselves ready for battle.

But he put a calm face on and hoped his little labrador did not notice any worry or tension in him.

The two reached the edge of the wood, and Phillip walked a little more before stopping at an old log. He gently placed White'Bone on it and sat down with a slump.

White'Bone stared as a moth quietly fluttered its way off the log and under the greenpoint grass that had appeared after the snow melted. The air around was calm. The scent of petrichor lingering in the soft gusts of wind.

"Sleep," Phillip said quietly to White'Bone. He stroked the puppy's head softly, lying down beside his companion on the log. He watched as White'Bone dozed off and after a moment, he, too, fell asleep beside his dog.

It was late at night, and Phillip was startled awake. White'Bone slept beside him, snoring softly and peacefully.

Phillip had an aching hole in him somewhere. When he had first got White'Bone, he was twelve years old. At the time, he vowed to himself to never leave White'Bone's side.

But now he had to break that vow if he wanted to keep his dog alive.

Phillip slowly picked up his hat and quietly walked out of the woods, avoiding any twigs he could see in the full moon, silver light.

He brushed his fingers against an old oak tree, and he took one last glance, at his little, sleeping puppy.

"I will come back one day," Phillip whispered. "I promise."

He knew he may not be able to keep that promise, but, as he walked away, he prayed that White'Bone had heard him.

And that both of them would always have hope to see each other again.