A high wind blew, drawing warmth upward from the graves and the grass. It bent the treetops. The girl danced to her own music. Her father swayed to his.

Lurid sunlight pushed ferociously through cloudslits straining to clench themselves closed. A pressure shift, a sudden rain smell, and a looming sky drama combined to vitalize the dancers; the girl pirouetting and the father bobbing, loose necked and bouncy knees. Slim Stanley stretched back against a treetrunk scratching dryskin shoulders through his shirt, writhing with crucified pleasure and anxiety. The music pulsed.