He Does Not Sleep

“The days are regimented here and though you should expect him to leave me in the tundra if I were to fall behind, you could say I am well fed and energized, so do not worry. Even though deer meat is all he provides in the way of foodstuffs, I’ve relied on my rations of tin vegetables and and have taken up the hobby of fishing to satisfy a varied diet.

We hunt most hours of the day, he kills the animals leaving me to fix them to sleds and drag the carcasses, sometimes many miles at a time back to the cave where he does not permit me to enter. I’ve been used as little more than a pack mule in these trips but from what I understand he brings me along to observe. It is difficult discerning him as he does not speak, or chooses not to, and he refrains from physical conversation beyond simple gestures when it pleases him. He engages in other activities on a mysterious schedule and he seems to make good use of any time I am away or the rare chance I may be caught sleeping. I’ve stepped outside for only minutes and returned to find a fully skinned and gutted carcass splayed upon the table with its spine removed and ground into sludge. He was sitting in his chair.

He acts like a shadow, choosing to move about the walls rather than cross the open floor. If I don’t watch him closely it is easy to lose track of him, even in this confined cabin space. During the nights (if one can call them as such, they are little more than dim evenings here) he sits across from the bed, facing the snuffed out fireplace, barely visible cloaked in his dark and oiled wraps. Comfortable sleep has become a luxury, on more than one occasion I have awoke to find he had rotated to face me, his gaunt statuesque form with long fingers clutching the ends of the arm rests. I suppose it goes without saying that he does not make for good company.

I have yet to fully understand what we are doing here, I do hope it is revealed soon. As things are though, I may be here for some time.

- M”