We stood across from each other, saying nothing. He looked more exhausted than ever. I shone my light on him, to see more closely how he fared.
He looked away. He retreated to the tree line. I followed him into the darkness:
When I woke up, I was tied to a chair in this old trailer. A new notebook was open on the table before me. He was sitting beside me grinding walnut husks into a paste and spitting now and again to make a pool of ink in his palm.
He holds it out to me now and I dip this hawk feather in to make these words on this page.
bigfoot, hawk feather, magic ink, The Light on the Hillbigfoot, hawk feather, magic ink, The Light on the Hill
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