Chewing on a mesquite bean, Algas listened to the wind. She listened to the crack and pop of the fire. She listened to Stormbucket munching the dry grass. She could see a faded glint of another fire on a distant hill. Maybe the voices of strangers. Lots of cicadas. And the rustle of the decrepit Frio.
"Damn foreigners."
She spit out the bean, took a sip of tea. Algas picked up her bible, just a couple verses to keep up the mind, and meditated.