The road scraped across the simmering dryness like a pencil line. Dark volcanic escarpments, bleached in the sun and capped by sage and juniper, held back the rushing sky. He slowed down to steer onto a rough dirt track that twisted its way toward the base of Obsidian Butte. A mile off the highway, he rolled the truck to a stop, dust swirling, beneath a spreading juniper. Against the red and fraying bark is where she would stand, her small hands gripping the low branch above her head, her glass hard nipples at the beckoning of his lips and fingers. It was there, naked in the late morning stillness and rising heat, that she would thrust her bare mound toward the sun and howl like a coyote while his fingers flowed across her slick and steely clit. It was there that she would fall on her knees into the pine needle and cow dung duff and swallow him until she gagged, again and again, until he poured across her, an offering of life in the high desert.