Lion Head Mesa Shake like the bough of a willow tree.

He is openly panting in the shade of the stone, oblivious to the shadow that trails him. If he'd ever taken note of it, by now Raimo's heat-stricken mind cannot hold firm to anything.

The air trembles with heat and it is not even summer. Everything shimmers; nothing feels real.

A woman's call sounds across the dirt. Raimo looks towards the sound and then draws up to his full height, though his head sags low and his shoulders are like the slanting edge of a mountain ready to collapse.