Redsand Canyon did he go on down the mountainside, and leave you all alone?

This time, he is quiet out of necessity. He rolls words around in his head until they all sound the same, worn down to their phonemic roots like river stones. I had someone I wanted to stay with. And now she's gone. He explains patiently, with the same methodical and lacklustre tone of a math teacher at his chalkboard, traces of long division on the green.

He thinks to say, there are places where a pack just can't fill, but it's too abstract, too evasive. Too smoke-and-mirrors.

He notices far too late that Riley had dodged his question, but doesn't chase after it. Why go down a tunnel when you're not sure that there even is an end?