Boathouse: Hugh & Atticus
Wasn't afraid of winter. Wasn't afraid of cold. Was born in New York. Had spent most of his childhood Upstate, where it was a completely different world. Humid, too. Colder than Repose ever seemed to get. Colder than the Capital, where he'd been when he was transported to this island. Wasn't fond of the winter rain, but understood what it was a harbinger for. Real winter was coming. The lake was deep in the center, but not so much along the edges. Would freeze, unless the man in the lake kept it from freezing. But it would be too biting and dangerous to go out on the water, even with a light freeze. Couldn't risk stranding out there and freezing to death. Lakes didn't have enough wave activity to keep the water liquid. Wasn't like the ocean of his boyhood. Was too dangerous. This would probably be the last trip out until the thaw. Was grateful he'd managed to get all the way through November before becoming stranded.
Was in one of the canoes. Tin bottom. Good on cold and in cold. Was bundled. Thermals over jeans and sturdy boots. Hoodie over shirt, slicker jacket over that, woolen cap pulled low over his ears. Wore gloves. Had a few days growth on his face. OK, more than that. Kept his cheeks warm.
Knew the way to Hugh's boathouse without even thinking about it. Pulled up and, if the outside doors were accessible, pulled in. Couldn't get out of the boat or out of the water, but there would at least be a roof over their heads. Not the best weather for a visit, but it would do. Could've brought the sailboat, but wasn't willing to take anyone out on the water until he knew more about his new friend.
"Had the same idea I did," he said, seeing Hugh inside. The dog too. "Thanks for coming out to see me," he said to the tail wagging dog at Hugh's side. "Look like time away was good for you." This he said to Hugh, not to the dog. Grinned.