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He’d heard the term, in all its variations so many times, but he just couldn’t figure it.

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What was it?

The little boy’s eyes widened in the dark, blooming like night flowers. He hid in the closet, a crouched and frozen shadow; he cracked the door half an inch, but couldn’t quite see them. His curiosity burned.

He had to know, he had to know what this thing was they were doing.

He’d heard them speak of it many times — only, though, in the least formed whispers, behind the slickest grins and eyes narrowed to forbidden slits. Yes, Daddy and his grandfather. Like just today, when Daddy had brought his tractor in from the graze field.

“That blamed Caudill up an’ cut my fence,” Daddy’d railed. Grandpap looked up from his work table. “Again?”

“Yeah, shore’s shit! Lost six more sheep! Gawd Almighty, we’se gonna have to do somthin’ ‘bout this!”

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