Barder, the Heroic Flying Dog, in a Depressing Tale of Death, Ruin, and Tragedy.

Our next assignment: from the picture on the left, by Jan Von Holleben (Find more at http://www.janvonholleben.com/?page_id=4).
Write a story where the dog's name is Barder and the orange turban gives the power of flight.
My story follows, for more, look at my teacher's blog: http://hthi-govsoc.blogspot.com/

As the child sat astride the dead dog, he rose into the air, lifted by his orange turban. Tears were freely falling down his face, mixing with the snot running from his nose and streaming to the sides as he pushed forward into the wind that always appeared at this altitude. The war was over now, and he was going back home. Although nothing remained of the castle orphanage that had been his home for the last 7 years, the grounds were still open to him. Although there would be no fire to warm his chilled fingers, and now no Barder to lean against as they watched the flames together, home was still home, and the only place he had left to go. Everything else had been destroyed in the war by the orphans like him who fought for the brave warlords. They fought and killed each other while the lords, fat and bloated with power and fear and greed into maggots, sat and ran their fingers through the skulls and gold coins that were brought back as spoils by the army of children. The lords took and gave when they felt like it and they had rarely been in generous moods. They had taken the child's parents, knowing that orphans made better fighters, home, friends, money, life, and then gave him hope, that as a general of the child army, he would have a true family, and a home, with the lords. But then they had dealt a cruel blow and the lords had demanded the sacrifice of his beloved animal, the high desert dog Barder who was the only dog who could withstand the tremendous pressures exerted by the turbans all the orphans wore, to help them fly and signify their tribe and position within. The other children flew alone through the sleet but Barder had been a trusty companion for this child. The lords had slit his throat and laughed as the blood poured forth from it as an offering to Victory. The lords had wanted the dog cut up for meat, which was indeed scarce, but the child has stolen the body and flown home. As it started to snow, he saw the ruins of his castle ahead. Leaning forward, he took himself and the dog down for a rough landing, falling on his side into the grey snow. He struggled a little to get up but Barder was literally a dead weight on his leg, pinning him fast. And he was so cold. He laid his head down, cushioned by the turban. The snow felt like the pillows he used to have in the castle. He closed his eyes, remembering long pillow fights and then cups of hot cocoa while he rubbed Barder's flanks as they laid down, exhausted, in front of the warm fire. With his eyes closed he could almost feel it. He smiled as he slipped into a long dreamless sleep in the snow, still pinioned under Barder's thick body.
The spy sent out after the child and Barder's body came upon them an hour later. He smiled as he saw his friend at peace at last, and then bore both bodies back to the hall for a feast. The lord would be pleased with his find and might even grant him a small piece of the meat. He hoped it was the dog; peoplemeat was too tough for his liking.