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Bitches in heat on the sheep farm and boy dogs are testing everything for meat temperature. Kendall likes chastising them with paintballs, but Da expressed firm-handed displeasure upon seeing their technicolor coats. She’ll wait for her week alone, pasturing on the Jones land. Rain obliterates the evidence.

Padrig had better fuck her again there, too, or she’ll turn the muzzle on him. The smell of the rolled-up tent makes her shiver. Smells do it for Kendall: tent mildew, sweaty boy, and the wet wood of the dock they’d run down, diving bare into water as cold as the moon.