The Survivors
Surviving until the third hungry night, Noni pinned his eyes on the dog. There was no flesh and blood left on this drifting Iceland, except for the towering icebergs, just the two of them. In that crash, Noni lost his sled, his food, his leather jacket, even his sharp knife. He saved only his beloved hound, Ninook. Today, one man and one dog are trapped on Iceland, maintaining a certain distance and watching each other intently. Noni's past doting on Ninuk is absolutely real, as real as the hunger of the moment, the etching cold of the night and the pain that gnaws at that injured foot. But didn't the people back home also slaughter their dogs to feed their bellies in the wilderness years? Didn't they? They did it without even thinking about it. He told himself that when hunger comes to an end, must be for food, "one of us is destined to be killed by the other," thought Noni, "so ......" he could not kill the dog with his bare hands. The dog. Ninook is far more fierce and powerful than he is. At the moment, he desperately needed a weapon. Taking off his gloves, he removed the bandage from his leg. A few weeks ago, he had injured his leg and had tied it with some rope and three iron plates. He knelt on the ground, inserted a piece of iron plate into the thin crevice of the ice, and rubbed hard with another piece of iron on it. Ninook concentrated on watching him. Noni seemed to feel the gleaming eyes, and emitted a more and more blazing light. He continued to work, and tried to make himself forget its purpose. The sheet iron now had an edge on one side, and sharpened more and more, the sun rose just as he finished the work. Noni pulled the newly sharpened knife out of the ice and rubbed the blade with his thumb. The sun's rays, reflected from the blade, almost made him dazzled for a moment. Noni made himself completely cruel.