YOU’VE GOT IT ALL WORKED OUT, FUNNY LITTLE GIRL
Sometimes it was good to get away.
Hajduk didn’t mind much whether they stayed or went; the heat did him no damage or good but sometimes he could smell death even when there was none. His sense of smell was stronger than Toro’s and he often felt like the only one who knew where the corpses had been. But then, the people hadn’t forgotten. They mourned. Toro mourned. And Hajduk didn’t know what to do about it. He was so young.
El Toro ran from it and toward it, back and forth, zig zagging and shying and charging. He wanted leadership and exile all at once. Let me protect them, he thought. Get them away from me, he thought right after, or right before - it didn’t quite matter. He was always thinking these things, trapped in a vortex of his own making. He wondered if he would ever escape. His father didn’t.
He remembered meeting Raymond here, watching the bison with what he couldn’t admit was fear. They were nowhere to be seen, not from where he was, but it was like they were there all over again and his lungs crinkled like paper on the red hot dust -
Brother, Hajduk thought.
I know, Toro thought.
There was no escape.
@
"What I say,"
What I think,
What Hajduk thinks,
