The Door mocked the old man, whose name was Angus.

"Don't look at me like that you damned thing. Leave me be."

The door did not reply, its silent presence a shrieking rebuke.

"Who are you to tell me to leave you be when you came to me?" It seemed to say. "Who do you think you are?"

The chastised old man went over to the tree that was his shelter and sat down near a glowing lantern. The earth under his creaking bones was packed down to a comfortable smoothness. The bark on the westernmost side of the tree was scraped away, hundreds of tally marks marring the smooth muscle of the trunk.

The old man seemed to shrink into himself as he sat beneath the tallied tree, silhouetted by the lantern light and mocked by the unassuming door.

The Door stared at the old man, whose name was Angus.

The old man, whose name was Angus, stared at the Door.

"If staring at me would bring her back to you, you'd have her by now." The Door seemed to say.

Angus shook his head, shaking the voice from his ears.

"Speak not to me, wretch."

The Door seemed to laugh, "you are the only wretch here."

Angus took his knife and marked another notch into the tree.