Hravart hoofed the ground.
Judah turned to Buck as they rested in the cool moss. “She’s bored. I need to take her for a ride.”
Buck smoothed his fingers against Hay’s cheek. “My horse is not far. I will ride with you. Across the thicket to the south, perhaps. It is closer my home and farther from yours. We will go unnoticed.”
“I would readily spend the rest of my life with you, but I do not know where we will live, Buck,” Judah said. “Certainly we cannot live in my community, and I do not know from whence you hail.”
“I’m afraid to tell you.”
Judah kissed Buck. “Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”
Buck rose to his feet and dressed. “Amongst other things, I am a groomer and caretaker of very fine horses at a large farm to the south.”
“A progressive farm? I know of a few—”
Buck shook his head and raised a finger to cut Hay off. “Not a progressive farm. I am not a progressive. I am the son of a traditionalist, like yourself. Recently, I became leader of a small group of dissidents who have been slowly infiltrating the underpinnings of society in order to make changes occur. My mentor compelled me to do so.”
“That sounds quite exciting,” Hay replied.
“Judah…I work at the Farm. Her Farm.”
“The Farm? You work for the goddess?” Hay asked.
Buck nodded. “For many years. I came to her as a farmhand, such as those who would accompany you tomorrow, and stayed.”
“She is the leader of a rebellion against traditionalism?”
“I do her will. I am her servant. I am compelled by forces stronger than the rites of the harvest to make changes. She is shrouded in antiquity and no-one sees her, save for her lovers. They enter, but only once has a man emerged. It is as if she consumed them as the soil uses fertilizer. They evaporate. Save for one. She has set forth her will in my heart and mind. She would see change come. Change as clean and pure as the seasons in passing.”
Hay smacked his forehead. “Truly, I am beseeched by too much information and sensation in a very short time.”
“Go astride your horse, and I, mine. We will ride, and it will clear your head. Then, we shall talk. In the morning, I want you to leave with the caravan. I will be waiting.”
“At the Farm.”
Buck nodded. “In the stable.” He cupped his crotch. “With my member in my hand.”
“How many are there? Those who seek change? Are there others like us? And how can we change anything unless we have witnesses to the fact that I shall not seed the harvest? There is rarely news from the Farm. You know…if a tree falls in the forest and no-one is there to hear it crash, does it make a sound?”
“There are many of us, Hay. Many. At the Farm, there are five—all long-time field hands—and of those who are man/man, one; and he is a powerful worker, commanding the respect of his peers. In the caravan, there are two more. Our plan shall unfold before witnesses—and in truth, said plan is already underway. I promise you, the trees that fall will be seen and heard, and from them shall spring forth a new world.”
“Yes, because the old world will crumble in fits of tornados. Buck, tell me this, did you know of me or was it happenstance that led me to the book and thereby you to me?”
Buck chuckled. “She told me.”
“She?” Hay asked.
Buck nodded. “She.”
“Holy harvest,” Judah replied.