Wolves
From Revolver
Dawn came gray and early to the edge of the canyon. Beyond that edge, there was nothing worth holding on to. Rachel rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, grinding the grit farther in. The tail end of a watch could make you see things. Over her shoulder a thin column of smoke rose like dirty wool pulled from a pillow, someone burning garbage in the daylight hours. She turned back and glassed the valley floor with her 700’s scope, just where the canyon turned and wandered into grottos and eventually the wide-open desert. Nothing. Some days, she felt this was all she was, a shoulder on which rested a rifle, a point of focus, the last thing between home and the world.
