Blackfoot Forest come be the new string on my broken guitar

A single bead of sweat races down the highway of his nose. The monotony of digging was comforting, and the minutes pass through him like he's a sieve. What was that quote, about shivering when someone walks over your future grave?
This woman is full of restlessness. Skyrocketing electrons. Taylor can almost hear whenever she tilts her head, or looks back-and-forth, like some spectator of a grandmaster chess game. Always a spectre, always a standee. It was possible she had other intentions, intentions that involved a knife being put somewhere in his person, but they're digging, and they're nearly done.
The snapping and jangling of twigs— for a second he's plunged into panic, and it takes him away like vertigo, but he looks back and it's Evien, snarling.
Kastner, he calls out. His voice feels like a stranger's in his own throat. It's alright. Don't shoot.