Getting worse.

The pain had gotten worse. The morning chores had been made difficult with his ankle injury and he was uncertain whether the note had been placed up in town or not, he prayed it had. Now and then he looked towards the door waiting for the dogs to bark and alert him of someone arriving but there was only silence. 
He had been unable to shovel out the pen, unable to clear the snow around the path and unable to do most of what he usually did but at least he had managed to feed the animals and that alone had almost been too much. Their water was running low and he could only wonder how he'd be able to fetch more from the lake with his leg like this.
Sat at the table his foot lay deep within a bucket of melting snow that helped soothe his aches and he hoped it would ease up the terrible swelling. It was an ugly sight as the skin on his foot and around the ankle had turned dark and bruised. He was certain now that he needed a healer to look at it but the nearest one he knew of was in town and he could never make the walk.
There was whiskey left from the night of celebration and he reached for the bottle, pouring himself half a glass and gulping it all down in a single swig. He hissed and bared his teeth at the burn crawling down his throat and into his stomach but hoped that it would at least do well enough to ease his pain and aid him to sleep later.