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           Louisstumbledoversomethingandfellfull-lengthontheground.Foramomenthedidn’tthinkhewouldbeabletogetupgettingupwasfarbeyondhimhewouldsimplyliehere,listeningtothechorusofpeepersfromLittleGodSwampsomewherebehindhimandfeelingthechorusofachesandpainsinsidehisownbody.Hewouldliehereuntilhewenttosleep.Ordied.Probablythelatter.

           Hecouldrememberslippingthecanvasbundleintotheholehehaddug,andpushingmostoftheearthbackintotheholewithhisbarehands.Andhebelievedhecouldrememberpilingtherocksup,buildingfromabroadbasetoapoint...

           Fromthentonowherememberedverylittle.Hehadobviouslygottenbackdownthestepsagainorhewouldn’tbehere,whichwas...where?Lookingaround,hethoughtherecognizedoneofthegrovesofgreatoldpinesnotfarbeyondthedeadfall.CouldhehavemadeitallthewaybackthroughLittleGodSwampwithoutknowingit?Hesupposeditwaspossible.Just.

           Thisisfarenough.I’lljustsleephere.

           Butitwasthatthought,sofalselycomforting,thatgothimtohisfeetandmovingagain.Becauseifhestayedhere,thatthingmightfindhim...thatthingmightbeinthewoodsandlookingforhimrightthismoment.

           Hescrubbedhishanduptohisface,palmfirst,andwasstupidlysurprisedtoseebloodonhishand...atsomepointhe’dgivenhimselfanosebleed.

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