The Gathering

by C.J. Tudor

He was a short, stocky man with a Friar Tuck ring of black hair around a bald pate and a face that looked like he was permanently in the middle of a minor cardiac event.

Auric. The goldfish they had bought together because it seemed less of a commitment than a cat or a dog (only to discover that goldfish can live for up to twenty years).

The snow had eased momentarily, but the wind still cut like a million icy knives.