Epilogue

- "Snowy!" Haddock called, cupping up his hands round his mouth. "Snowy, where are you, old rascal?"

The newly harvested golden fields were taking on a bloody hue in the twilight around him. The heat of the day was now giving way to the pleasant coolness of the evening, and grasshoppers were leaping among the coarse remains of the mown wheat.

- "Snowy! Come on, come back! You're no longer old enough to sleep outside, even in summer!"

Somewhere in the surrounding countryside, a tractor was bumping back to its farm. Scouts were playing guitar around a campfire. A cricket awoke at the edge of the river and began its song, quickly joined by others.

A star had lit up in the firmament, a bright spot in the sky where ultramarine blues were blending. Another, smaller, appeared beside it.

Bats were hovering across the field. The captain chased them away with a brief wave of his hand, along with the mosquitoes gathering around his head. He took off his cap, wiped his forehead, slapped his neck, then resumed looking for the dog that had scampered off during the gin rummy game Calculus was losing for once.

- "Snowy! Snowy! Where are you? Come back at once!"

Haddock frowned, his fists on his hips. He turned around, scanning the wide countryside around him. The hay bales shadows were stretching down, a breeze was rippling through the row of trees on the side of the road. A bicycle was following the small road to Marlinspike.

- "Snowy! What kind of fly has stung him? He can't have gone to the village again..."

Sometimes, when the locomotive's plaintive cry could be heard in the distance, Snowy ran away. He was inevitably found at the station, waiting on the platform for his master to come back...

A gyrfalcon brushed past the captain. He flinched. The horizon was painted with purple shades now.

- "Snowy! Snowy! Blistering barnacles, will you answer?!"

He thought he heard a bark and turned around quickly. But it was only the dog from the dairy farm on the hill opposite. The captain decided to go take a look anyway. He would then return to Marlinspike Hall and take the car to go to the station. He was not going to walk all the way to the village, as he had done the first time.

Impossible mutt! He's even more stubborn than his master...

He was groaning, but he knew he wouldn't have the heart to scold Snowy when he found him. Tintin had been gone for three months now, time was getting long for him too ...

It was milking time and the farmer had other things to do. He had not seen the castle's dog, no, m'sieur, bien l'bonsoir, m'sieur.

Haddock scratched his beard when he came out from the yard. He thought for a few moments, then, with a sigh, resumed the direction of the mansion, cutting through the fields to get to the breach in the perimeter wall - it would have to be repaired someday - and gain a few hundred meters through the park.

The white silhouette of the house and the lighted window in the small living room that Nestor must have lit for Calculus stood out through the trees when he heard branches cracking in the thickets. Immediately alert, he stopped, scanned the darkened undergrowth.

Snowy? A doe? Gangsters?

Interpol still hadn't established who was the enemy who had been playing with them on the radio. The Bordurians were thick-skinned. Had they sent agents to Marlinspike? It wouldn't be the first time ...

He slipped cautiously between two trees, rolling up his sleeves… and froze as he stepped in a small clearing where a big brown root was snaking in the grass.

It was the place where Tintin had fallen when he was chased by the Bird brothers' doberman, on his first visit to Marlinspike Hall. By a curious turn, he had taken it in affection and had installed a hammock there, in which he came to read in the summer, in the coolness of the wood.

Snowy was here.

Lying on his side, at the foot of the tree in which they had fixed a ring for the hammock that had not been hung this year.

The evening breeze was gently brushing back his white, curly fur.

Haddock slowly came closer and knelt down to touch the dog's muzzle. Snowy did not shudder. He was still warm, but there was no more life in that small body worn out by the years.

- "Poor old thing ... muttered the captain, sadly stroking Tintin's faithful companion, emotion clogging his throat at the idea of having to tell his young friend the news of Snowy's death.

He stayed lost in his memories for a moment, then picked up the fox terrier and slowly made his way home.

He was just coming out of the gardens when he saw Nestor running towards him. The butler looked distraught. His skull was shining with sweat; his sparse hair was mussed up, his yellow striped waistcoat was stained with who knew what, sauce or tea.

He was waving something over his head and when he got close enough, the captain realized it was the blue paper of a telegram. Something froze inside him, and he stopped, unable to go any further.

- "Ah Monsieur, Monsieur ..." Nestor stuttered, out of breath.

His pale face was marbled in red, his wrinkles were deeply hollowed out, and his flabby cheeks were streaming with tears.

- "Monsieur ... oh, Monsieur, the terrible news ..."

Haddock felt his heart squeeze so painfully that he gasped. Black dots danced before his eyes, and for a moment the night was everywhere, darker than any storm he had faced.

Then the discreet sound of the crickets' song came back, the square of light from the living room window stood out again on the flowerbeds and through a veil of tears, he made out Nestor who was standing in front of him, hunched like an old man, looking appalled, staring at the small body of the dog.

- "Oh Monsieur… Snowy… poor Snowy…"

- "I found him in the wood," Haddock said in a strange mechanical voice. "Near the old oak tree. He must have sensed it coming…"

Nestor blew his nose loudly.

- "Yes", he stammered. "Yes, Monsieur, he must. The brave animal must have sensed it… they were so close…"

He timidly patted the fox terrier's limp head.

The night was fragrant, sweet and peaceful. There were still only two bright stars visible in the sky when the captain looked up, for a moment, to muster up his courage.

- "This telegram, Nestor ..." he breathed, his voice hoarse. "What's it saying?"

The butler lowered his angular chin. A tear ran down his big nose and got lost in his starched collar. He leaned down to take the dog carefully, then handed the thin sheet of blue paper to his master.

- "I am so sorry, Monsieur…"

The black letters blurred before the captain's eyes. He ran his sleeve over his face, tried to make them out, but they didn't make any sense.

He bit his lip, rubbed his beard.

- "Thundering typhoons, who's the scoundrel who..."

His voice choked.

- "Tintin ... oh, Tintin ..."

He wanted to run away, to flee from the pain, to go and hide himself somewhere, maybe to go back to his accursed bottle, and forget everything. But his limbs were not obeying him and he stood there, motionless, shoulders quivering, the blue telegram crumpled in his gnarled hands, so small next to the great white castle in which he would now be so unbearably alone.

A drop wet the corner of his mouth, then slipped into his black beard. It tasted like the sea - the sea he should never have left.

- "What are we going to do, Monsieur?" Nestor asked, sniffling, holding Snowy close to his chest.

Haddock drew in a deep breath. He put his hand on the old butler's shoulder.

- "I'll go to him," he said. "He's waiting for me, I'm sure. I'll bring him home."

Against the inky sky, the blue roof of Marlinspike Hall stood out in a clear line. Thousands of stars were twinkling now, and one of them drew a curve down, in the blink of an eye, before disappearing behind the mansion.

THE END

If you didn't know already, the Clear Line was Hergé's drawing style. I wanted to give it a small homage.

These characters were my childhood friends: I wrote my very first fanfic when I was 7 years old. It featured Tintin and Captain Haddock going on a holiday and finding Tintin's parents along the way (Tintin somehow got hurt too ^^). It was also the very first story I wrote in my entire life, in big clumsy letters on a spare orange notebook my daddy had brought back home from work (there were lists of shoes brands at the back, and these weird names inspired me later for my very first original story, 'Auriel of Earth').

I can't thank Hergé enough for all he gave me through these comics and this was a very humble attempt at a fanfic of his amazing world. Thank you for bearing with me till the end!