“We killed him, your Rostov.” Weiwei can hear the wind in the branches of the trees, the hum of insects. The blood pounding in her ears. “He came back,” Elena goes on. “He was older. He came past the Wall and the guards. He wanted the wide-open spaces, he wanted the soil and the grass and the stone. He couldn’t sleep, you see. He said that we called to him in his dreams, that we would not let him rest. He knelt in the grass and wept.”
Man’s thin control of the wilds of nature
