She stretched out on a grave-sized piece of earth where “hopeless,” a mere word grew to reality, the whole of everything. She wanted not to think but kept thinking and its sharpness was pain. First she decided to go to him find him unable to die and unable to move. But if he loved her she would surely bring him sorrow and if he didn’t love her he would hate how much she cared. What would she say? I’m sorry you are paralyzed? It’s supposed to rain soon? More compassion, she thought woman bestows on animals than on her own and shoots with remorse her badly hurt horse. She might play him music or let him see horses running but if she were forever resting on a bed she couldn’t bear to look out a window and see horses running and music would torment him as nothing else. Calves sent to the butcher were better off. A rabbit hopped into the sunlight a raven squawked. This grave on which she lay grew beautifully moving toward infinity and she knew what she must do.