The Man The Beast & The Mountain

A Story by Layton

Part one of a my short story. Just trying to improve my writing skills.

Another brisk morning high in the mountain, as the sun peaks threw the pines dawning its warmth onto a small cabin. The aroma of coffee drifts gently threw the one room home. The bearded man sits hunch over on a wooden stool struggling to boot his worn out boot over his thick wool socks. His rough scared hands have trouble with small task, to many days spend swinging an pickaxe and smashing his hands between rocks have taken its toll on the man. The man walks over to the cast iron stove, removing the coffee pot and pouring it into his rusty tin cup. Without giving it anytime to cool he raises it to his chapped lips and sips the pipping hot coffee. He packs his lunch up in a bandana, half loaf of bread and salted meat, putting into his pack. He had to get what little gold he found this week to the bank to buy some much need supplies. The hick to town is about a half days walk. The man has made the trip many times sometimes leaving with money in his pocket and a pack full of food and supplies. Today would not be one of those days, the river was not producing the same amount of gold it once was. Soon he would have to relocate, the man didnt know if he had it in him to start another site again. Now was not the time to think of such things, he had business to attend too. Putting out the fire and finishing his coffee he grabs the beat up musket and throws it over his shoulder resting it on his pack. Stepping out side with the crunching of the fresh snow under him he sets off. A gush of chilling air slaps him in his face, bringing a tear to his glossy eyes. He always hated the cold being around it all his life but never being able to adapted to its icy touch. Head down he marches forward. He knows its not smart to be absence minded of his surroundings, the woods poses many dangers for a lone traveler. Thoughts of the time he killed a black bear in his younger years flow threw his head. Damn he was strong then, able to chop down a well sized tree with nothing but a few blows. That was the past not nearly as strong now but still as sharp and wise as ever. The man would often get lost in thought. He'd think about his wife and the joy she brought him, and how happy he was when they found out she was pregnant. She was everything to the man, when she died giving birth he fell in deep depression. Having lost both his with and stillborn son is what drove him into exile upon the mountain.