Chap­ter I – The Derelict begins with Link Fer­ris caught between the glow of tem­po­rary friend­ships and the gnaw­ing respon­si­bil­i­ty he for­got to keep. What had start­ed as a cheer­ful evening of cama­raderie with two well-mean­ing strangers had soured into frus­tra­tion when Link real­ized that the store, where he was sup­posed to cash his mar­ket check, had already closed. His fogged mind sharp­ened quick­ly at the weight of that error, and beneath the warmth of whisky and friend­ly laugh­ter came the chill of fail­ure. Stand­ing in front of the locked door, he felt both fool­ish and angry. The fold­ed bills in his vest couldn’t fix what was already lost: time, trust, and tomorrow’s plans. As he stum­bled away from the store­front, indig­na­tion twist­ed inside him. What had been a light­heart­ed detour now felt like betrayal—by oth­ers, and worse, by him­self.

His frus­tra­tion mount­ed as he passed the tavern’s bright win­dows and the clash of noise inside poured into the street. He walked faster, ashamed of how eas­i­ly he had been dis­tract­ed from duty. At the bend in the road, deep mud and dark­ness con­spired against him, send­ing him crash­ing face-first into a pud­dle of muck. The laugh­ter from near­by loafers struck him hard­er than the fall itself. Drunk, angry, and humil­i­at­ed, Link found him­self sur­round­ed by jeer­ing men who quick­ly turned their mock­ing into vio­lence. Out­num­bered and dulled by drink, he strug­gled to defend him­self. And then, out of the night, sal­va­tion arrived on four legs. Chum, silent and fierce, lunged into the fight like a storm unleashed, scat­ter­ing the attack­ers with fangs and fury. Link, dazed but deeply moved, rec­og­nized the loy­al­ty in those glow­ing eyes.

As the vil­lage con­sta­ble wad­dled onto the scene, more crowd than author­i­ty, the ten­sion began to ease. Chum, pant­i­ng and tri­umphant, danced around Link with vis­i­ble joy, as if proud to have arrived in time. The fight had end­ed, and although Link’s dig­ni­ty was bruised, some­thing in him felt repaired. He leaned against Chum for bal­ance, the dog’s pres­ence more com­fort­ing than the gawk­ing faces around them. Amid the noise and con­fu­sion, Link’s thoughts drift­ed from revenge to rest. He was led back to the tav­ern, cel­e­brat­ed as a fight­er and a fool alike, and dragged into more drinks and loud admi­ra­tion. But the warmth of the bar­room turned sour. His body revolt­ed, and his thoughts turned inward, drawn toward one image that cut through the haze: home.

The thought of home was bit­ter­sweet. He pic­tured the bat­tered house, the tired gar­den, the lone­ly barn. But most of all, he saw Chum—waiting, hun­gry, patient. Link felt the pull of respon­si­bil­i­ty sharp­en again. He mum­bled an excuse, try­ing to rise, but anoth­er drink was pressed into his hand. He drank. And with it, the image of Chum flick­ered in and out like a dying can­dle. A sec­ond time he stood, more deter­mined than before, brush­ing past mock­ing hands and the half-heart­ed offer from the con­sta­ble to walk him home. Link scoffed at the idea. He had Chum. That was enough. A man didn’t need any­thing more when he had a dog like that.

Out into the night again, he moved forward—less steady, more stub­born. The cool air was a balm, draw­ing some clar­i­ty back into his aching head. The vil­lage dis­ap­peared behind him, replaced by dark­ness and the soft, suck­ing sound of mud under­foot. And though the night offered no light, Link pressed on. His legs wob­bled, and his thoughts swam, but some­thing told him to keep going. Behind him, soft steps followed—familiar, mea­sured, loy­al. It was Chum. No need to call him. No need for words. The dog was there, just as he had always been.

Every stum­ble, every slip, was met with the com­fort of know­ing some­one fol­lowed close. No judg­ment. No ques­tions. Only pres­ence. That was what made Chum dif­fer­ent from peo­ple. No false friend­ships. No bar­room cheers that van­ished at dawn. Just qui­et loy­al­ty, guid­ing Link through the fog and toward some­thing steady. Home wasn’t far. Not in miles, and not in mean­ing. And with Chum’s silent foot­steps echo­ing behind him, Link Fer­ris final­ly felt less lost.

Even in his state, he rec­og­nized that com­pan­ion­ship like this didn’t come often. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it nev­er wavered. A dog like Chum didn’t ask for praise or rewards. He gave his pro­tec­tion and his trust freely, expect­ing noth­ing more than to walk along­side the man he chose. And in that mud­dy road, under a sky heavy with fog, Link Fer­ris final­ly under­stood the shape of love—not flashy or fick­le, but stead­fast, silent, and beside him, step by step.