He had a pouch tied around his neck and Louise tried not to look at it, because his black hair curled blue around the leather straps and around his strong neck. She wondered if Baptiste could ever really change. Maybe being in the woods could cleanse his ways. Baptiste had told her the land brought us all back to our best selves. Now she wondered if he could make a change for the better. She could feel the warmth of his skin and she wanted to be close to him but she pulled her legs up to her chin. She let herself imagine. She saw herself kneeling beside him, opening her blouse to him, her nipples hard in the cool shadow of the cottonwoods, letting him suckle her, the gooseflesh rising on her arms, letting him have what he wanted. No one would know. Hidden in the dark trees, the scent of them drifting, then gone. No one would know. She looked down at her shoes.

Baptiste stood up over Louise. She was dwarfed by his standing, his strong, lean legs. He stepped around her slowly, almost carefully. She let go of her thoughts and felt the brutal toe of his boot barely touching her buttocks. He turned his back to her and she heard him unzip his pants. She kept quiet. She did not want Baptiste to know she was afraid of him just as she didn’t want him to know she was drawn to him. She heard the low sound of Baptiste’s voice as he pulled back from her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your luck has run out.” She wondered what he meant. She wished his foot was still at her back. She was afraid to turn around.

She heard the dense patter of urine and she tightened her arms around her legs. Baptiste walked slowly, circling her, peeing like a dog marking territory. Louise wanted to hide her face in her lap but she kept her head up. She had a desire to pull her blanket tight around her but she made no attempt to move. She could see the stream of his piss. She could smell the dry soil, then the pine needles startled by brief moisture. His pee seeped slowly into the pale dust, leaving a dark clay stain.