Amy came outside and sat beside him while they watched their dinner cook.
She fixed the saddlebag in place and swung onto Soldiers back.
Soldier was waiting for her at the edge of the clearing, his jaws loudly working on a stand of waist-high grass.Did you like it?Come to me, come to me, come.I still dont know how you do that, he said.It became colder, with the odor of clay.
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How did one do it?
But she had no more prayers inside her.
She closed her eyes, emptying her mind.
Soldier, does the sky look like snow?Bit by bit her daughter disappeared.She wondered if she was losing her mind.Thats what this place was.Dark, gogglelike glasses, with leather shields at the temples, concealed her eyes.An aspect of the dream had traveled into life; her shirt was sopping.The feeling of the hour was the same as Amys song: memory and desire, happiness and sorrow, a beginning and an ending joined.It struck the cloth with a pattering sound, like the first spits of rain upon leaves.And I love you.It was an old mans face.