[Now he falls silent entirely, something darkening, too, in his eyes. He takes a long drink from the can and sets it at his feet, both hands back on the grip when he straightens. Now, when he empties the rest of the chambers into the dune, he can feel the recoil through both arms, down into his stomach, and up into his angry, buzzing brain; it makes his teeth grind together in his clenched jaws.
Good, he thinks, for the same reason as Stephen. It's something that isn't anything but what it is: not loss, not shame, not worry or resentment.
He pops out the cylinder, lets the casings fall at his feet, and mutely holds out the gun for a reload, not quite looking at Stephen.]
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Good, he thinks, for the same reason as Stephen. It's something that isn't anything but what it is: not loss, not shame, not worry or resentment.
He pops out the cylinder, lets the casings fall at his feet, and mutely holds out the gun for a reload, not quite looking at Stephen.]