Broken Path: The Buddha Rocks Project

Right. So Evelyn at Filling a Hole has a challenge called The Buddha Rocks Project. The rules are basic. 7 days of posts inspired by 7 pictures taken by Eric. who also has a blog over here Bubba’s Place.
Confused yet? Don’t be.
Enjoy both Eric’s photography and my hand-wringing as I try 7 days of posts inspired by 7 of his pics.

Broken Path
Nobody had witnessed the cinder block tumble. Nobody needed to for it to mean the end of Ray.
It was near winter’s completion. Snow capped our world and our sensibilities. The three of us had long since quit arguing, choosing instead our own company. Of course we would encounter one another within the confines of the walls of the mansion, whether it was in the kitchen, the lounge or desolate corridors, but after the month of June not a single word was uttered aloud. Even the eye contact between us ceased. Our food rations were split and each of us took care of ourselves. We knew what our chores were, and took care of our own. We were biding our time, brooding, so never noticed when one of the cinder blocks lining the pathway that lead from the back garden to the patio, simply toppled to its side and broke its line that neatly divided snow covered gravel from snow covered lawn. Shakespeare himself would have been proud of the irony – it was Ray’s responsibility to care for that pathway.
The sound of our master’s return reinvigorated the blood coursing our veins. No longer lost at sea, we were to regain purpose to our lives. He had arrived in the darkest hour. We stood at the ready, lanterns raised as beacons to guide him toward his kingdom’s entrance. From the darkness came the cunch-crunch of his even footsteps in the snow, and when his face was finally illuminated, tears of joy burned our eyes.
He slept until midday, then took a long bath and leisurely meal. Finally, in the late afternoon light, he stepped outside and announced he would take a brief walk around the premises. When I caught sight of him returning along the pathway that lead from the back garden to the patio, I made for the kitchen to prepare his tea. Upon my return to the patio, I saw that he stood alongside the fallen cinderblock. He circled it with a frown. He bent down on all fours with his nose almost touching the ground. He shovelled some dirt with his hands. Then sprang back like a dog bitten on the nose by a squirrel. Slowly, still on all fours, he crept back to his previous position and scratched manically in the dirt.
“Raaaaaaay!” he shrieked. I knew the tone. I’d heard it before when dark and dreadful days had befallen the manor. “Raaaaaay!”
I raced to my master. When I arrived he lunged at my throat with his powerful hands, lifting my feet off the ground, then he pounded my back into the snow. Dazzled and breathless I fought for my life in vain, and may well have lost it had he not returned to his sensibilities and realized I was not Ray.
“Where is Ray?” he moaned. An injured animal. I shook my head. He got up and ran for the house.
I rolled onto my side to catch my breath. I was inches away from the fallen cinderblock. Slowly, I raised head to peer at the dark patch my master had been scratching at. I did not recognize them as fingers at first due to the discoloration, but there was no doubting to whom the silver engagement ring belonged.