The morning sunlight pried through my tired eyes. Something was beeping, slicing through the quietness with a rhythmic chime. I fumbled to rub my eyes, listening to the ceaseless tone reminding me that I needed to begin the day, before I reached out a paw to kill the sound. My paw clamped down over a rectangular alarm clock that I'd bought on the way home yesterday and positioned next to my sleeping bag, and silenced the beeping with a slap over a flat button on the top. It was time to go to work.

I untangled myself from the sleeping bag as the last of the drowsiness melted away. In the solitude of my tent, I checked that the outfit I'd been wearing each day I visited Tom had no reason to be considered dirty and dressed myself. The longer I stayed in my tent, the more frequently I heard footsteps shuffling by. The residents seemed to be gathering for breakfast. I would join them momentarily.

Streaks of clouds across the sky concealed the sun this morning. As I ducked out of my tent to find some breakfast to choke down before I would leave, I could see a large cluster of animals off towards the breakfast table. Whether some were seated yet, I couldn't quite tell, as the animals standing in the back blocked my view. A gentle breeze swept over the land as I made my way across the campsite to join them.

It was bread today for breakfast, several different types of loaves left out along the table in their bags and tiny containers of fruit jams closer to the end. I collected a forest green plastic plate from the stack at the beginning of the table, grabbing a piece of wheat bread and a couple of containers of strawberry jam. The majority of animals standing around the breakfast area had already found seats nearby, so I found myself a seat on the ground at the side of one of the occupied wooden logs and settled myself down for a short meal.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked a black cat in a plaid dress sitting on the log beside me after I had sat down and crossed my legs both to sit comfortably and to rest my plate.

"Let's see," the cat replied, pushing back her sleeve to peer down at a silver watch that caught a glimmer of sunlight in the face. "About seven o'clock."

I wouldn't need to leave for another half-hour and I was already mostly ready except for breakfast. I carefully spread the jam from the tiny containers I had taken from the bins onto the toast with a plastic knife I'd gotten with the plate—Though the toast was so thin that it tore a hole right in the middle when I tried to spread the jam—And enjoyed the meal that I had prepared for myself. I was among the first animals to finish up with breakfast, tossing my plate through bins of warm, cold, and soapy water to clean it, and prepared myself a mixed-berry jam sandwich before heading off back to my tent again to gather my belongings.

I recalled that I still had a beaten-down plastic bag somewhere with my belongings from the very start of the trip and might have even caught sight of it while unpacking on the very first day here. I peeked into the backpack I had chucked into the corner to find the bag still buried deep in the bottom, abandoned and forgotten. There was a small tear along the side, but nevertheless, it was my only option if I wanted to bring anything with me to the shop. In the bag, I packed up the sandwich I had slapped together as well as my notebook and a pen in case I would need to jot down any notes. That done, I slung the handles of the bag around my arm and set off on my way.

Sunlight illuminated the pattern of the wood floor like it had on the day I had first met with Tom as I stepped inside the shop, my bag still bouncing against my hip. Tom was already deep in work by the time I had arrived, sweeping dust along the bright patches of the floor, and raised his head when the door swung open.

"Good morning," Tom said to me, barely pausing in his sweeping before he had already returned to work.

"Good morning," I replied, outstretching the bag from my arm to carefully lay it down near the door.

"Could you begin setting up the display?" Tom requested. The faint sound of his sweeping was gentle and rhythmic as he worked. "I have some boxes of small items you can choose from in the storage."

Abruptly, I hit a mental wall. I had just gotten here. I wasn't at all certain of what he was expecting for the display. He'd offered me the option of choosing items, so maybe there was a bit more flexibility than my mind was making it out to be. No matter whether I would do it correctly or incorrectly, it was my first request and I needed to fulfill it.

I dismissed myself to the door at the left wall, easing it open to enter the room. It was a notably small room, several boxes stacked high along the back wall causing it to seem smaller. A sink positioned against the right wall was coated in rust and genuinely looked worn down from years of use. A thick layer of dust sat on the floor in front of me, though it wasn't the only thing that did. One of Tom's twin boys, whom I had been informed were called Timothy and Thomas though I was still struggling to tell them apart, was in the middle of the floor and the sea of dust, intently fidgeting with a packet of seeds that he must have retrieved from one of the boxes.

The materials that Tom had asked me to collect to set up at the front should have been in the boxes at the far wall. Inching past the little tanuki was enough to pull his focus from the packet to look at me as if he had just realized I was there. I forced a smile in greeting—Smiles weren't exactly something natural to me anymore, but as this was a child, I had to at least try—And tilted the first box at eye level to figure out its contents.

As I dug through the assemblage of items in the box, the sound of the crinkling packet registered again as well as the soft smacking of the tanuki's chewing. I paused in my search to toss a glance over my shoulder to find that he was already utterly distracted by the packet of seeds and was now gnawing on the corners as well. I figured there wasn't much concern for this and brought my attention back to the inside of the box, but hardly ten seconds later, the sound of abruptly tearing paper pricked up my attention, closely followed by the clatter of seeds trickling onto the ground.

I turned right around on my heel to see what in the world had just happened. The tanuki had the seed packet out of his mouth again, but it was too late. The dark seeds from the bag had spilled out onto the floor as he stared, ripped packet in paw, as if he couldn't possibly process what had happened.

"Uh oh," the tanuki said softly, goggling at the mess he had made, and the muffle in his voice implied that there were seeds in his mouth as well.

I rushed to slide the box back into place to help, but the second that it slipped back into place, a second wave of rattling implied that the tanuki had just poured the rest of the seeds in the packets out onto the floor as well. I didn't have the chance to find out how to get the seeds out of his mouth before he was trying to scrape them out himself when I dropped into a kneel, plucking out the seeds and dumping them into the cluster.

I swept up the fallen seeds in my paws, spilling them scoop by scoop back into the torn bag that the tanuki had dropped. The tanuki had turned his curious wide blue eyes towards me, still sitting on the dusty floor, before he evidently decided that he had somewhere else that he would have rathered to be. He climbed to his feet just as the last grab of seeds fell into the bag again, swaying slightly to balance himself and watched as I rose again. For a moment, my eyes found the damaged bag in my paw—Was I just supposed to throw it away now?—before another soft smacking sound brought my attention back to the tanuki to discover that he had begun to claw at his mouth again. He still had seeds in there.

I dropped down into a kneel again, setting the bag aside so that it wouldn't let the seeds loose again and used my freed paws to take hold of the tanuki's little head. One of his paws grasped at my wrist as I examined his mouth, searching for a way to pick the seeds out or a sign that he was in distress by it. He didn't seem to think much of the situation at all, gazing at me with those questioning eyes, but also seemed to understand that what he had in his mouth wasn't edible and didn't proceed to ingest it. It likely wasn't harmful anyway, and plus, I had a job I was assigned that I needed to finish.

I withdrew my paws from the toddler's face, collecting the torn seed bag and easing to my feet as his own paws flew into his mouth again. With a brief scan of the room, there were no trash bins to toss out the bag, so I abandoned it atop one of the boxes of storage materials. I had just restarted my fishing through the materials when soft thumps of tiny waddled footsteps receding from me told me that the tanuki was leaving the room. A high-pitched whine implied that the door had been pushed open and he wandered back into the main room without a care in the world.

The sound of hushed conversation greeted me once I elbowed my way through the door again, arms clinging a box of materials close to my chest. Tom had paused in his sweeping and now held the broom with him at a still position, head bowed down as he spoke with the tanuki who had just left the storage room minutes before. The other twin had been situated on the nearest display table and quickly turned his head to be able to keep an eye on me as I stepped through the doorway.

Light wafted into the room from the wide window at the display, tumbling over the floor like a blanket of warmth. Once I claimed my place behind where the display was soon to be, I bent down to set the box at my feet, gathered up several packets of the same type of seed, and got to work. For the next stretch of minutes, I set up the packets in baskets that lined the surface of the display, arranging them so that they could stand neatly and orderly. Often, my eyes flitted back and forth from the display to the outside world beyond my reach, observing the sunlit path and illuminated town. Even now, it was still such a difficult idea to wrap around my head that this was what my life was now. No longer relying on the residence of a house in a small and close-knit town while concealing myself behind whatever protection the door provided me from the uncertainties of my friendship with Redd. Life was a little more secluded here, just a peaceful and slow routine.

Footsteps drifted towards the storage room. I snuck a glance behind me to find that Tom had set the broom aside and had picked up the tanuki that had been talking to him, holding him securely to carry him to the next room. I focused on the display again and within less than five minutes had created an array fit to stand behind the window, what customers would first see as they came by the shop. The assemblage on the tables within the room was next.

Tom had picked up his quiet sweeping by the time I shifted my task. I passed my paw over the front display in final tiny adjustments, listening to the soft sounds of the bristles sliding across the wooden floor behind me, and turned back to the tables in the middle of the room. One of the tanuki toddlers was still kneeling on the surface that I would need to decorate, shifting absentmindedly in his seat before his wide eyes met mine.

"Hi," the tanuki said, almost shyly in my presence.

"Hello," I replied politely. My feet found movement again, briskly starting off towards the table with the intention of removing the tanuki, whose eyes followed me closely with every step. Easing the box from my arms, I set down the extra bulky weight on the surface of the table, and this seemed to spark an interest as the tanuki peered questioningly inside to see what was there. He didn't exactly get much of a chance to discover what lay before him in the box before I folded my arms around him to lift him, hoisting him up from the table to bring him down to the floor. His tiny paws squeezed the fabric of my shirt as I lowered him to my feet, still distracted by the box on the table, and didn't ease his grip when I loosened mine.

"I'm going to put you down now," I whispered, gently prying his paws from my cardigan, and it was then that he appeared to get the hint and released me.

"Oh," the tanuki murmured, voice sinking in disappointment as his eyes traveled along his surroundings again, and I rose to my feet.

The bags crinkled softly as I withdrew them from the box, piling them up onto the surface of the table in preparation to organize. With a sharp exhale, the tanuki at my feet was climbing to stand again, fumbling as he struggled in the action. My eyes strayed back to him as I continued to unload the decorations, looking out for a sign that he would try to interfere, but all that he did was steady himself on his feet and reached up to grip the fabric of my skirt.

The surface of the table was filled up more and more as I set up the display in a careful, attentive precision. The tanuki stuck to my leg with every movement I took, clutching my skirt and taking in my decorating, utterly fascinated by it. Gradually, my reality faded more and more out of sight as my mind began to wander in the thoughtless activity until even the constant brushing of fur against my bare leg didn't disturb my peace. These tasks seemed generally easy so far. I could have done something like this for a long time without complaint. Tom was friendly, no matter how distant he was, and his children didn't seem to mind me too much either. Maybe this was a good fit for me after all.

It didn't exactly scream job, though, at least not prominently. Not yet. I'd accepted more volunteer opportunities in my life than I could even count and at this point of the endeavor, it appeared more as an act of assistance rather than something I could have been paid for. That was probably something I was going to grow into. As of right now, it was only the beginning of my new life.

Something seemed to grab the attention of the tanuki at my feet as he dropped his paws from my skirt and outstretched them towards something behind me. It was then that the sound of heavy footsteps approaching registered in my ears and I instantly figured that Tom had returned to take his child. I paused my work, a line and a half of bags strung along the flat surface of the table, and snuck a glance over my shoulder just as he was bending down to pick up the tanuki. Without a word, he secured the child in his arms and excused himself again. I dropped my head again.

Silence crept through the sunlit space. Within minutes, the box had been emptied, sporting rows of bags along the width of the table. The box was notably lighter than before as I took it from the table, gripping the edge limply in one paw, and dismissed myself from the main shop to reach the storage room. Tom had already found his way to the back room as I elbowed my way through the doorway, positioning the broom in the corner of the wall. The tanuki that had followed me around just five minutes ago was still being carried in the rigid grip of his free arm and the second tanuki kept nearby to watch curiously.

I didn't bring attention to myself. Unspoken, I returned the box to where I had originally found it, slipping it back into place atop the filled boxes. As I was easing it back into position, Tom spared me a glance before taking his leave from the storage area, the door swinging shut behind him as the walking tanuki drifted along behind him. It was just as the door latched again that the realization sunk in that I was meant to follow him, as I'd run out of tasks.

I cleared out of the modest storage space and back into the main shop in pursuit of my boss. In the time that I'd been away, he had already seated himself, occupying a chair left beside the table most center, quietly typing away on a laptop that rested on his lap.

"Mr. Nook?" I spoke up, swiftly crossing the room to reach him. He raised his eyes from the screen as I approached, the soft lights clinging to his face like a whisper of emotion.

"Yes?" Tom said. He had stopped typing, his paws resting casually on the keyboard.

"I finished putting up the display," I told him.

Tom sent a glance over in the direction of both the displays on the table and in the front, examining my work. "I see that," he remarked.

"What should I do now?" I inquired.

Tom quietly considered my next move, eyes drifting aimlessly across the displays. I could almost see the thoughts whirring from behind his deep blue tired eyes. Not a sound touched the room until he spoke again.

"Could you greet the customers as they come in and make sure they have everything they need?" Tom instructed, his eyes flashing back to meet mine.

Well, I'd never dabbled in customer service before. Not anything significant, anyway, like this. If I put on a smile, came up with a greeting as customers walked in the door, and checked in with them if they seemed lost or confused, then it was something I could work with.

"Sure," I said with a firm nod.

"Good. I'll be here if you need anything," Tom replied, dropping his eyes back to the computer screen in front of him as the typing burst to life again.

I situated myself at the door, guessing that it would have been quite a while before I would abandon that task. At least it would have given me time to think about the future I'd just hurled myself into without so much as considering first. For a long stretch of waiting, there wasn't an animal to cross the street outside, much less stop by the shop. I kept myself entertained by watching the minute hand tick around the clock and occasionally dipped into my own contemplation when there wasn't risk of jolting myself back to reality to interact with customers any time soon. Nine o'clock came and went, the hands of the clock spinning slowly in the rhythmic beat of the day's cycle. My first morning had officially begun.

I found myself at the window after a while. Not only was it less of a struggle to watch out for approaching customers, but it also wasn't as much of a difficulty to see the world passing me by outside while I stood behind the glass. Sunlight beamed from the highest point and the snow was melting away into broad pools of water. Springtime was on its way at long last, and my year would never be the same.

The first customers appeared through the door almost halfway through the ninth hour. I brightly wished them a good morning—Energy that was returned as something more casual—And made a point to ask them right away if there was anything I could help with. They were just browsing, so I let them go to explore on their own time. The arrival of customers grew more often over time, animals passing through the space and exiting into the outside world after they'd had a chance to look around, maybe buy a few items. Everything was going smoothly. I could grow accustomed to this routine.

Tom never moved from his seat in the middle of the room. The sound of soft typing etched into the sensation of the morning, starting and stopping once again. Occasionally, he glanced up from his computer to look around as if suddenly realizing where he was, studying the animals that had found their way into the shop and were looking through what was in stock before he returned to work. Caught up in his project and with a long task on my plate, our interactions were postponed for the next several hours.

The day went on. I'd anticipated the morning to fly by, given that I would have been distracted striking up conversations with customers and assisting their individually tailored needs, but instead, it crawled by like dragging feet through heavy mud. When I snuck a glance at the clock to discover it read nothing later than ten forty-five, I knew strongly that the day would never end. My breakfast didn't tide me over for much longer and the spasms of hunger began to pinch my stomach shortly after eleven o'clock. Even then, I kept myself busy to distract myself from the digging hollowness, talking over the faint rumbles in my empty stomach, and finally caved at the strike of noon.

All right, I might as well eat something, I gave in with the swinging shut of the door in the departure of a group of three. I stole a glance in Tom's direction to find that he still hadn't budged from his place in the room, no longer typing but attentively analyzing the weakly glowing screen.

"Mr. Nook?" I said.

Tom sharply raised his head from the computer, evidently not expecting me to speak so suddenly, and looked at me from the distance of the room. "Yes?" he prompted.

"Can I take some time to eat my lunch right now?" I asked. "I wasn't quite sure when I was meant to do that."

"You can do that whenever you like," Tom told me.

And so, I grabbed my beaten-down bag resting near the door and situated myself on the floor at the wall. I pawed past my notebook in the bag to withdraw the sandwich I had put together this morning, removing it limp and floppy from sitting for so long. Well, it was better than nothing. I shifted into a crossed-leg seat to get more comfortable for the time being and sank my teeth into the droopy jam-smeared sandwich.

With my sandwich between my paws and a dull ache slowly creeping up my back from sitting on the floor, the morning behind me danced in the front of my mind. I could nearly still feel my mouth moving in perky conversation, slipping through the motions that had led me here. Images of tasks and directions lay fresh in my thoughts even now. The work was low-effort, something I could adapt to without trying too hard.

I supposed that was how it was going to be. Likely, my mornings would be the most action-packed while setting up the store was still necessary, but I saw myself engaging in customer interaction for the rest of that time while Tom huddling himself away in the corner with his computer on his lap would become routine. That was something I could stand by. It was as much as I could do to hope that I wouldn't tire myself out by so much interaction, since that was an entirely jarring shift in my day. As long as that was something I could teach myself to avoid somehow, then there was nothing left to deny that this was a decent step towards my future.

Absentmindedly, I allowed myself another bite of my sandwich, only to be jerked back to reality by Tom shutting his computer. I raised my eyes from my meal and saw him rise from his chair, tucking the computer under his arm to take hold of the back of the chair with his free paw and lift it from the floor. I kept an eye and ear out to make sure he wasn't about to make another request, but he only started off shuffling towards the storage room again to put away his chair. I absorbed myself in my thoughts again.

A step. This wasn't my future, was it? What even was my future? And most importantly, how was I going to get there from here? I couldn't put my name out into the world stuck inside a little shop. This was clearly no future of mine, but there was no success I could reach without a little bit of progress. But then again, this begged the question of what my success could have even looked like, one that I could have been satisfied with.

It wasn't a difficult task to bring up the images of a future drawn together since way back into my puppyhood years. My presence imprinted onto daily life, even and especially through my own eyes where I could appreciate it. My actions on the list to be noted, experience never forgotten. A responsibility under careful watch to lead the crowd. To rise and guide and influence. A name effortlessly recognized and savored on the tongue. Isabelle the Shih Tzu. Someday, I was going to write my own destiny and drive a wave of my own significance. But if I knew any better, Isabelle the Shih Tzu hadn't possibly put her name out into the world that first golden time by sitting behind the seldom touched doors of a little shop in a little town. I had my work cut out for me.

The storage room door swung open again as Tom pushed his way through. He emerged into the main shop once more, still carrying his laptop under his arm without the chair that he appeared to have put away, and caught my eye for just a second as he stopped at the table he had been sitting near. Enjoying the last chunk of my sandwich, I watched as he lay the laptop down onto the table behind the display and started off towards the front of the store without a word, rhythmic footsteps breaking through the silence with every gentle tap-tap-tap.

And this was another thing altogether, I realized right then. As my eyes lingered on him from my spot on the floor while he distractedly fiddled with the display I had set up this morning, face bathed in the light of noon, it struck me that I didn't have so much of a clue who he was. I knew who he was on the surface. He was a tanuki called Tom Nook, likely at least ten years older than me, who ran a shop of tools and various collectable items. Beyond that, I was seeing him for the very first time. How had I decided so quickly and thoughtlessly to jump into this job with full trust? There was certainly a distinct energy to him, one that I couldn't quite define but was drawn into connection with nonetheless. He was quiet, but a gentleness crept into his actions. I couldn't see his past, but I could easily tell that he wasn't defined by it. Tom Nook wouldn't hurt me like Redd had. And maybe that was why I trusted him.

The door at my left lurched open as a group of two animals entered the store to glance around, thrusting me back into the day I had left behind to explore my thoughts. I was still on my lunch break, sitting on the floor with a stiff and tingly lower back and an almost-finished sandwich in my paw. As the customers proceeded to direct themselves along the middle display, scanning what was available to check out, I crammed the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth and climbed to my feet. My workday was far from over.

. . .

The afternoon dragged on as long as the first portion of the day, if not slower. Customers came and went, passing through the door without a care in the world. I gradually fell into a sort of familiarity in my tone, projecting brightness and cheerfulness onto each animal that entered the shop. I hadn't anticipated it to come so easily, but I was managing. I offered help searching, guided those who wished to be led around the store, and directed questions I wasn't fully sure of to Tom. My work never ended, so it seemed.

The longer I stood, the more evident the throb grew in my aching feet. I'd probably been in every square inch of the store as the day slipped away from me. The hour hand of the clock went around and around in the creeping minutes, turning one o'clock lazily into two, into three, and further on. Sunlight bled into the golden aura of the afternoon, leaving a smooth layer almost like honey across the wooden floors. A pang of hunger twisted my stomach at the missing meal around six thirty, but I had no other choice but to ignore it. I wouldn't get the chance for dinner for many hours to come.

Almost quicker than I could process it, the sun sank below the horizon. Shadows settled in the corners of the room, resting peacefully while I couldn't do the same. The unbroken dimness that sat in the room and the sight of the midnight-blue sky outside of the window tickled my gut with jabs of discomfort, sparking the worry that I was too young to be working like this. I was nineteen years old and I wouldn't be able to see two feet in front of me in the late hour when I would end my shift. Nevertheless, that shift went on.

It was just after eight o'clock that my thoughts reached out for home. Or rather, what I was supposed to call my home as it was hardly a home at all. The tents I would soon be surrounded by flowed through my recollection, leaving something at the end of my path to look out for. I would be in my tent, sitting in the middle of the thin fabric that was the only thing to separate me from the bumpy and rocky ground, and only then would I accept that the day had ended. I'd curl up and snuggle into my sleeping bag knowing it was over. But I was still working, and so I kept that thought tucked away in the back of my mind and smoothed over the concerns of working late by reminding myself that eleven o'clock was coming around soon enough.

At long last, it did come around. It wasn't any different than ten, nine, or any other turn of the hour that had come before it. My tired eyes that my paws itched to aggressively rub away the sleepies gazed up at the clock on the wall in the solitude of the store that was just Tom and me once again. He had put his children to bed hours ago, but the memory was a blur as the drowsiness had taken over. Ten past eleven had already struck and was inching into fifteen past. As the soft sound of sweeping against the wooden floors broke the silence, I figured that my dismissal had been forgotten about.

Pure exhaustion etched into Tom's face as he carefully swept the floor near the middle of the room. Either he didn't care to hide it from me or it had reached the point where he simply couldn't. It was as if I was no longer even there with him, his worn face bowed down to watch his work in progress. He'd had as long of a day as I did, and he'd been doing this for who knows how much longer. He truly needed this help.

"Mr. Nook?" I said.

Tom seemed to be jolted back into reality at the sound of his name, raising his head to sleepily look at me. "Yes?" he prompted.

"I think I'll probably head out for the night," I announced.

"That sounds good," Tom murmured, shifting his weight between his feet with a faint sigh as if he was struggling to stay upright and awake in the dead hour. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow at eight o'clock in the morning. I was going to do this all over again. I decided that I wasn't going to think about it for now, excusing myself to the door to retrieve my bag, and Tom kept gently sweeping the floors. I picked up my bag from the floor, slipped it onto my shoulder, and elbowed my way through the door to leave.

Crickets sang in the darkness beyond my sight. A biting chill sat unmoved in the air, pinching my cheeks and face with a rigid grip at every step. My bag bounced against my hip as I traveled the path I had followed early this morning. The bells in my ponytail jingled and rattled with every brisk step I took on my way back to the campsite, declaring my presence to all that could hear it, but I was alone.

It was a jarring shift of my night. One minute, I was still inside the shop preparing to leave, and just like that, I was outside trying to get home. A shiver shot down my back as I kept on along the snow-patched sidewalk, drawing in my bag in my arms to carry it snugly to my chest—It wasn't much protection against the cold, but it was something. An icy breeze swept across the area. Somewhere in the distance, leaves on a tree or a bush fluttered in the subtle winds. Maybe I would have felt better if I wasn't alone.

For a long part of the walk back to the campsite under the dense shadows of night, it was like I'd never left the shop. Memories of the past day still spun through my mind so rapidly and so coherently that it was almost overwhelming. I couldn't quite let go of that part of me yet; I must have been at it for too long. After minutes of uninterrupted walking, the sidewalk led back to a paved path through a more open space, a sure sign that I was going the right direction.

The stars, which had evidently begun to pop out sometime when I was still working, shone bright and sharp as they scattered across the sky. To see the endless dome of twinkling and sparkling as far as the eye could reach, it was a breathtaking, nearly dizzying sight. My eyes darted across the sights, taking in all that was above me as the crickets went on in chirpy song, and somehow, I found myself relaxed again. I wouldn't have complained walking home under this every night. Maybe it was worth it after all.

The paved path led me patiently under the cover of trees several minutes into the walk. Faint, frosty breezes crept across the land here and there, my arms clutching the worn-down plastic bag to my chest like it was my only source of warmth, my shoes crunching over what was now dirt and snow. The leaves fluttered above me from the reaching trees as if waving hello and welcoming me home from my tortuous journey. Absorbed in the tranquil sounds that flooded my senses, I allowed myself to take a breath of the brisk midnight air. Yes, I supposed this was all right.

There was more bustle and life in the campsite than I'd expected. The fire crackled in its pit, vibrant flames licking at the sticks it consumed and illuminating the night. Some animals gathered to sit around it on thick log seats while others shuffled among the tents to find their own. A few even followed me into the campsite from the outside path, sluggish steps with arms wound around tote bags implying they'd just gotten off work as well.

Mind clouded and eyes sore with drowsiness, I excused myself past the fire and into the array of tents to return to mine in the back. The crackling of the fire followed me no matter how far I went and the hinted scent of smoke and camping wafted through the air. It was so late, and I still had to get up so early. Whatever comfort from the walk home was slipping through my grasp, chest clenching in dissatisfaction, and I let my bag fall back to my side as I reached up and firmly rubbed my eyes until dots sprung across my eyelids.

"Long day at work?" a voice asked me, jerking me back to reality. An animal whose silhouette I failed to make out through the darkness had been in the process of entering their tent and now stood looking at me with the flap propped open.

"Way too long," I mumbled, coming to a stop to engage in conversation. "I'm so exhausted."

"Really? When did you leave today?" the animal inquired curiously.

As if I needed the reminder. "It was around seven thirty this morning," I said.

"Oh, wow," the animal replied, by their tone clearly taken aback by the statement. Another wave of icy air ran across the space, toying with the end of the open flap and skimming off the rest of the tents. "No one should have to work like that."

My puffy sleeping bag had never beckoned me so strongly as it did when I ducked through the flap of my tent at last. The crackling of the fire was distant behind me as I lowered the flap behind me, emerging fully and finally into my tent for the night to get some rest. I sank down into a seat on the thin fabric, instantly drawing my attention to the rocky ground trying to poke its way through, tore my bag from my shoulder, and felt my body droop in defeat with a heavy sigh.

Well, the first day was over. If I could manage to squeeze out any bit of sleep at all tonight, I was going to force myself up at the crack of dawn and do it all again. And again and again and again for longer than I even knew. Was that really how I wanted to spend my life? What was stopping me from turning around, calling it quits, and finding something better for my health? My head pounded in a rising tension sprouting between my eyebrows and a twinge of frustration twisted my stomach, but it was just as my paws came in contact with my face to rub it did a realization dawn on me.

Wow, I was being so critical of something I worked so hard to achieve. If I noped out of my mission just as soon as I needed to put in some effort, I'd never get anywhere with my life. If I wanted to reach the point of influence and fame that I'd longed for since I was a tiny puppy, then I needed to start somewhere and without knowing where else to turn, that somewhere was here. And besides, it wasn't all about me. Tom needed my help and it would have been wrong to abandon him. After all, I wasn't used to the routine yet. Maybe what I needed was a deep breath and simply to clear my head.

The flap of my tent fluttered restlessly in the breeze as I drew it back again, crawling back out into the open. The sound of hushed, murmured conversation skirted the area, creeping through the darkness beyond my sight as outlines of animals began to shut themselves away for the night. I patted my paws along the grass, briefly checking that it wasn't damp, and determined it dry but stiff in the cold. The fire further down the campsite popped and hissed as I eased down onto my back on the grass, shifting into a comfortable position, and lied beneath the endless skies with my paws draped still across my belly.

Even from the moment I stopped moving and set my head back to look up at the sky, there was something so weightless about being in this moment. The glittering sky wrapped around me to the ends of the earth, encasing me in a massive enclosure of home. I felt my back against the ground, picturing the world ever-so-slowly turning beneath my body and holding me close, felt my breathing turn known but steady, felt the tightness simply melting out of me and into the ground around me. I was surrendering my moment to the universe, giving up my control to higher power.

The minutes crept by and, like me, eventually became timeless after a while. The world was slowly fading away and it was me underneath the utter beauty of the sky's unknown. The sounds of talking and crackling fire receded to nothing. I was alone again. I didn't know how long I'd been out here or how much longer I would be, but it wasn't important. In the face of such deep, ethereal peace, the only thing that was important was me.

Relax, I told myself. Look how far you are already.

Everything was okay. I was okay. Making my way into the working world was the difficult part of the plan. I was already there. I was on my way. No great leaders were made overnight. The future was designed at its core to be an idea of vast possibilities, a plan for tomorrow built by the foundation of today. I was building that foundation. I was building my tomorrow.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. I didn't hate the job, not at all. It was draining, sure, but not unpleasant. Not only that, but I had to devote myself to standing by Tom's side. He needed me there, and so I wasn't going to be anywhere else. It wasn't time to worry about the future. All I had to know was whether I was satisfied with the present. I had everything under control and that was a heavily soothing thought. For once in my life, I knew what to do.

Starlight twinkled in goodnight as I brought myself back into my tent. I took advantage of the coverage of the tent and changed into my pajamas. I arranged my bag at the base of the door, laying it out carefully where I could easily grab it in the morning. It was late, but I was going to rise from sleep at the crack of dawn and do it all again and again and again. I shook out my pillow, fluffing it up for sleep, and curled up tight in my sleeping bag, drifting off to sleep by the lullaby of the wind tapping its gentle fingers on the walls of my tent. I didn't fall asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, as some of the books I enjoyed when I was growing up would say, but I was gone within minutes.

I could get used to this.