The woman moves, as they often do, in slow perambulations around the property, reaching out to touch the reedy stem of tall grasses, placing a soft palm against the flaking wood of the barn. She goes into the barn, and he watches, hidden behind the rotting stack of cordwood that has been in this place since beyond time. He takes a deep breath, reading the air as it moves ahead of her. Reading the trail of scent she leaves behind. They are always the same. Alone. Like with this woman, the aura of darkness emanates from within them.
He will watch. He will wait. She’s not ready yet, but he is confident that she will be ready soon to accept his help.