The Sacrifice Made
This city wasn’t so different from what Dingo was used to. The early night had already fallen, and the winter breeze blew calmly through the streets, making little white clouds form in front of Dingo’s mouth each time he exhaled.
The boy tugged on his plain black scarf, but the reddened tip of his nose still stuck out, unprotected against the cold. Dingo had been out for a little while already, trying to navigate himself through the unfamiliar streets, and find the grocery story he was looking for.
“Dingo, we should really ask someone for directions, just this time …” Tomahawkman repeated his usual line with even less patience than usual. Without his usual connexion to the Net, he couldn’t hope to find a map of the area.
“No ! I’ll find the path on my own !” Dingo protested. He set down the empty bags he had brought along, so he could grab his tomahawk from behind his back. The dark alley he was walking down was perfectly empty, so Dingo wasn’t afraid to throw his weapon around, and ask his ‘instincts’ for help.