(The First Frostarc Novella)
By Arthur McMahon
Copyright 2012 Arthur McMahon
Inside his tattered cabin, Kozz prepared to leave on his monthly delivery. Staring into the bathroom mirror, his fingertips brushed through a buzz cut of salt and pepper hair and across the sandpaper stubble of his cheeks. Silver eyes and a strong jaw line gave youth to an otherwise aged face. His block of a head balanced atop a spud-like body. Pale skin stretched tight around a growing waist where it once pulled neat and fit around a warrior's physique.
“This mug ain't what it used to be, but I'll make it presentable enough to head into town.”
After shaving, Kozz walked into the main room and grabbed his belongings off the round table next to the small gas-fire stove. A change of clothes, a few meal bars, and his knife. He tripped over a stack of tabloid magazines, the same stack he told himself years ago he would find a better place for.
Giving a last look around his home, Kozz felt for her cold metal surface at his side as he walked out the door. Sometimes Kozz could be forgetful, but he never forgot her.