The last rings of sun, with the moon surrendering backward on its rocker: it's a scary light in which to lose your dog. Only the tiny desert vichos can hear Ilyn whistling for Shab.
Showing up unapologetically late, Shab seems happy to back the cart right up to Ilyn's charred and bloody heap near the decomposed granite pit he's crawled out of.
Shab gets a kinky cord of hemp wrapped in his teeth and pulls, and the door on the back of the cart falls off.
Ilyn then has to figure out how to get into the cart with the least amount of pain. After all, he is not a martyr.
A quiet darkness surrounds the pair except for just beneath Shab's hooded forehead, where his eyes are lending just enough red light to see the flecks of cement dust in the air. They would turn all the way back around to the sun again before they'd even find their trail.
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