Still waiting for rain and the pregnant mare has taken ill. Upstairs, the boy rasps air into his lungs as the sky tumbles dry and dark above the prairie. Ma touches his hot face. Already, she feeds his breakfast egg to the younger boy, whose shoulders should broaden. Nails wet sheets over windows. Spring, they’ll plant trees against the wind, sweep up crickets till then. Pa digs beside two crosses; this time the younger boy helps. Ma pays no mind to grit against her shins, throws her fistful of dirt like seed over silt. The mare drops her foal and is no longer of use.