>get a knock on the door at midnight
>Light my lantern and shuffle to the bottom floor of the trading post I run
>as I open the door the cold rolls in like a wave
>Before me a see a gruff old man with a hard face and red cheeks obviously exhausted
>he is dressed in fur and snow shoes
>behind him he pulls a sled full of gear and over his shoulder a bag
>Without a word I bid him enter
>He looks around presumably wondering what to do with his gear
>I groan and motion toward the out building and with a wave of my hand indicate that I will store it for him later
>He leaves the sled and knocks of his snow shows and enters still clutching the large bag, leaving a trail of snow
>He follows me the the large stone for place where he collapses in a chair like a dead man, dropping his arms and bag beside him
>His eyes follow me as I get the fire going again, the mans only sign of life.
>I glance at his bag
>Comlpletly full of furs
>Walk over to the counter only now starting to actually wake up
>I fetch a clay pipe from the drawer and a bottle of Scotch from the cupboard
>I place the scotch on the counter and begin stuffing the pipe with tobacco
> the man squints flattening his large eyebrows and stares at me with the look of a Greek philosopher about to bestow the wisdom of life
>finally After a long breath he moans
>"Whiskey" he says as he collapses back into the chair
>I do as he commands
>I would offer him a room, but I know there is no force on Earth that could tear him from his seat
>bring him his drink and pipe which he consumes stoiclly, never glanceing away from the now roaring fire
>I stare at him from behind the counter barely able hold my eyes open until his arm drop beside him
>I then get dressed stow his gear and return to bed
