They were out of horse so they had to get dressed and read one of their many dusty books for entertainment. 5 shots you’re dead, but they weren’t there yet. Edward selected an ironically colored blue book about Mars he’d stopped in about 5 months ago, when the shipment came in and the dishes started to pile up and the water started running out the door. Shelley was reading this blog, in fact this sentence. She speaks as if channeling.
“I hear Baker Bloch is thinking about shutting down his involvement in Our Second Lyfe. We’ll, *I* won’t let that happen.” She pivots around to Edward as instructed, who she can tell isn’t listening, absorbed in his guided dreams about the red planet. “Will we?!” she shouted over.
“W-what? What are you on about now?” he spoke, not prying his eyes from the letters and words and sentences and paragraphs before him but thinking about something else now. Horses — wish they still had some of that shipment left.
“I *said* — dreamer — that we won’t let Baker give up on Our Second Lyfe.”
“Oh.” He settled back, ready to return to his book. “But that won’t happen. As long as you’re the third…”
“… which is actually the first,” she completed. He was reading again, not worried atall about the matter. After a minute:
“Edward?” No answer.
“*Edward*.”
“W-what is it *now*?” He looks up from the pages. A foal was about to be born. He was very involved in the details, wondered if he should try his hand at running a farm himself. Red dirt turned to red dust. But no electricity, he remembered. Shelley must play her guitar.
“I’m ready to go back.”
Sunklands 