He could see his breath on the crisp afternoon air. He stood in his doorway, looking out into the world; several feet from his door, the tediously piled firewood to the left, his small soup cauldron suspended over several bits of long stale charcoal. The huge looming bodies of the grand trees that made up The Forests of Altair. He shivered at the mere size of the trees; how insignificant he was to them, only to brush the thought aside. He pulled his black cloak tighter around his shoulders, and stepped out onto the frosted grass.
He made his way to the firewood pile, and gathered up an armful of logs to bring back to his dying hearth. He trudged back towards his door, and the freezing wind began to pick up. He scurried the rest of the way inside, dropping the wood on the floor. He struggled to close the door against the relentless wind, pushing back the cold air that tried to penetrate his sanctuary of warmth and orange candlelight, like a beast violently attempting to fit through a passage too small. He managed to close and bolt the door, and sighed in relief.
He live inside a hollowed tree, unlike most of his species. Normal people these days lived in holes to avoid the harsh winds, but he hated the cramped spaces and suffocating darkness. He was simply different from the rest, possibly being the reason he never fit in, and was eventually cast out all together, though he didn’t mind. Here, even though he was enveloped in loneliness, he could be himself, without boundaries or borders.
He picked up the firewood he had dropped on the floor, and made his way to the diminutive hearth attached to the wall opposite that of the entrance into the colossal ash tree in which he resided. Fulgurating shadows danced along the walls, the spawn of the wavering firelight flickering upon the wicks embedded in wax. Sometimes he would see figures in these shadows, reaching out to him, though for him to respond would be seen as rather deranged, but alas, he would anyway. He would speak to them, pour his deepest inner thoughts out onto the ringed wooden floor, but they wouldn’t ever stay still long enough for him to tell them anything worthwhile. It was quite rude of them. They never remained stationary, flitting about the room without care, he wished he could be as careless as the imaginary shadow figures created by the fluctuating light of his candles.
It was at night when he realized his true isolation, when the figures left with the soft light of the candles, becoming only wisps of smoke trailing off slowly. His isolation was cold and merciless, it sat like a weight on his chest in the blackness. Soon sleep would sweep him away, there he could be carefree.

He was awoken by the dazzling light of morning shining in through his window. He blinked his sleep away, and rose. He peered out his window this morning. Everything was the same. The firewood remained in its small pile, and the cauldron swayed slightly in the breeze. He carelessly traced over his land, scanning for signs of something different. It was then that his eyes alighted upon a grayish brown furry creature sniffing and pawing at the ground, surrounded by several tufts of tall grass. He exhaled, his breath fogging the window. He quickly whirled around,
“There is a dog! There’s a dog here!” He exclaimed, and scurried to his pantry. Inside there were bits of dried meat he had stored for the winter. He grabbed a handful and swung his door open. He shut it quietly behind him, and slunk forward, in the direction of the canine.
The dog had ceased its pawing, and looked in his direction. He paused. The dog perked its ears. He took a step. It let out a low growl. He stopped, reached out his hand, and uncurled his fingers to reveal the bits of jerky on his palm. The dog lowered its head and crept forward, sniffing. It was timid, like an injured child with trust issues. It finally reached him, and lapped up the meat pieces with its sandy tongue. Its breath was warm against his hand, a new feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time, almost in forever. He relished in the feeling of another being’s presence, and the warmth that accompanied it. 
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and extended a tentative hand to pat the creature on the head. Its fur was rough and wiry. The dog growled again, and before he knew what had happened, it snapped at him, and he felt a stab of pain in his hand. Heat rushed to his fingertips and his arm. He could feel it, hot, dripping off his fingers onto the grass upon which he stood. Vision blurred with pain, he looked up to see the dog running off into the forest, into the brush.
He looked down at his hand, which now had streaming red lines dripping, creating red spots on the ground. Without thinking, he clumsily wrapped his injured hand in his cloak, and turned back in the direction of his home. Black spots floated in his view, and his vision phased in and out of focus. He staggered to reach his doorway, and faltered with the door handle, bursting inside. He slowly closed the door behind him. He leaned with his back against his door, and slowly slid to the floor, his knees against his chest. Sighing, he rested his head on the door, looking up to the ceiling. He closed his eyes, the spots were still there, moving about like minuscule bugs trapped under his eyelids. He shut them tighter, and leaned forward, stifling a sob. His mind was reeling, but remained completely static at the same time.
He was alone, so quietly and utterly alone. Nobody knew of his existence. He had no one except for himself… and the dancing shadow figures that jumped to life in the evening, fluttering across the walls. He didn’t know himself anymore. He didn’t know who he was, he wouldn’t recognize the reflection that stared back at him in a mirror. He talked to the walls and tried to make friends with wild animals in an attempt to relieve the maddening feelings of loneliness he suffered from. 

Eventually, he rose from his spot on the floor, his mind refreshed. He inhaled deeply, and walked to his bed, upon which he laid down. For the first time in a long time, he slept peacefully.