The air was cool for once.
A faint mist hovered over the pasture.
She walked outside carrying a cup of coffee.
She expected to see Atlas beneath the mesquite trees.
Instead, she saw the fence.
It was covered with birds.
Claire stopped walking.
There were caracaras everywhere.
On the posts.
On the rails.
On the roof of the shed.
In the trees.
In the dirt.
She counted twelve.
Then fifteen.
Then stopped counting.
More circled overhead.
Claire's heart began beating faster.
She looked toward Atlas.
He stood in the center of the pasture.
Completely still.
The birds began descending.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then several more.
They surrounded him.
Claire had seen them feed before.
But this was different.
They weren't scattered.
They were concentrated.
Almost organized.
Atlas lowered his head.
The birds moved across his body.
Claire stepped closer.
Then she saw something.
A patch on Atlas's back looked different.
There were fewer ticks there.
Much fewer.
But beneath the remaining parasites, his skin was not merely irritated.
There was something else.
A pattern.
Claire frowned.
She moved closer to the fence.
Then Tom Ellis's truck appeared on the road.
He had come early.
When he saw the birds, he stopped.
He climbed out.
“Claire!”
She turned.
“Tom?”
He stared at the pasture.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
Tom walked toward the gate.
Claire followed.
They entered together.
Atlas watched them.
Tom moved slowly around the bull.
Then he stopped.
His expression changed.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
She stepped closer.
Tom pointed.
“Look at his shoulder.”
Claire did.
The skin was exposed in a large patch.
The ticks were disappearing.
But that wasn't what had caught Tom's attention.
There were old scars.
Long, pale lines.
They crossed the bull's shoulder beneath the thick coat.
Claire's stomach tightened.
“Those weren't there before.”
“They were.”
Tom's voice was quiet.
“You just couldn't see them.”
Claire touched the edge of one scar.
“What happened to him?”
Tom shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Another bird landed on the fence.
Atlas remained still.
Claire looked across his body.
The scars weren't random.
They formed a pattern.
Several ran along the neck.
Others crossed his ribs.