At the edge of the field behind their ranch, lined with prickly pears and wiry shrubs that tugged at her dress as she walked by, there was a creek. Past the creek, over the big red rocks that were at least a couple feet taller than her, there was a trail. Little bluebell flowers trailed along the ground between the rocks, spots of color that popped out of the ground in these late spring months, a line of bright blue and periwinkle breadcrumbs leading to a squat, worn-down cabin framed by a pair of tall, stately cacti on either side of the porch. She could count the times she’d seen the cabin on one hand, despite the fact that it was only a 10 minute walk from her back door.
“Bonnie! Baby, get back from there!”
Bonnie turned from where she was standing on the creek’s bank to watch her mother pick her way through the scrub brush. A severe line had found its way onto her forehead, a worried look she had been seeing on her mother more and more often since she and her brothers had gotten older.
“What have I told you ‘bout comin’ out here?” she hissed, grabbing for Bonnie’s wrist once she got close enough. “Not safe for you to be wanderin’ alone, baby.”
“It ain’t even dark yet,” she mumbled.
“That don’t matter,” her mother sighed. “Come back to the house.”
Bonnie let herself be dragged back across the field, and only glanced back behind her once they made it past the drooping fence-line of their backyard. Not too long after, the front door banged open and two sets of loud, obnoxious footsteps came thundering towards them, accompanied by the giggly chattering of her older brothers. Her mother snapped at them to stop messing around and help with dinner, and soon the table was set and everyone had a hot bowl of stew in front of them.
“Hey, ma’! You hear what happened to ol’ Harrison the other night?” her brother Jesse crowed, his mouth full of mashed up peppers and beef. Bonnie’s nose scrunched up in disgust.
“Hell, that was a grisly sight!” Jesse’s twin Jonah laughed, spewing half his dinner across the table. “All bandaged up and too shook to leave the house! Nate said he lost his damn arm!”
“Language!” her mother scolded, but Bonnie’s interest was piqued. She leaned over and pointed her fork at them.
“What happened then?”
“Some folks in town said he was out too late, tendin’ to his cattle. Something’s been making ‘em sick,” Jonah grinned with morbid fascination. “Said he got attacked by somethin’. Big, hulkin’ thing that leapt at him outta’ the dark. Tore him to shreds!”
Mother rolled her eyes. “Don’t go gossipin’ boys. It’s rude.”
“Like a coyote?” Bonnie asked, unperturbed.
The twins grinned at each other. “Maybe. Maybe a rabid one.” Then they leaned in conspiratorially and lowered their voices. “But some folks are sayin’ it was somethin’ else. Somethin’... unnatural. Somethin’... from Old Lady Saguaro.”
“Boys, enough!” her mother snapped. “I don’t wanna hear another word ‘til everyone finishes their dinner, you hear me?”
Everyone around the table was quiet for the rest of the meal, but Bonnie saw the twins giggling silently and jabbing at each other under the table. Mother was noticeably stiff as she ate, tersely ordering everyone to clean up afterwards. She heard her mother close the door to her room while she and the twins scrubbed at the dishes, and her face scrunched up in thought. She glanced at her brothers splashing each other with the dirty dishwater.
“Was it really?” Bonnie asked. The two of them looked up.
“Really what?” Jesse asked.
“Really… Old Lady Saguaro?”
“That’s what some folks are sayin’. Ol’ Harrison got real butchered. Ain’t no mangy coyote could do somethin’ like that,” Jonah said.
“Gossips sayin’ that back in the day, ol’ Harrison went and pissed off the Old Lady real bad. Did her wrong,” Jesse wiped his wet hands on the front of his pants. “Went and got himself cursed or somethin’.”
Bonnie huffed and went to dry her hands along the ruffle of her dress, something her mother always got on her about. Cursed. Well, she supposed that if anybody deserved it, it was ol’ Harrison, that creep. More than once, she’d heard her daddy come home complaining how Harrison had swindled his way out of another honest trade, that selfish bastard. Not a charitable bone in his body.
“Didn’t know Old Lady Saguaro came into town,” she muttered.
“Used to. When we was babies,” Jonah shrugged. “Guess ol’ Harrison wasn’t the only one to do her wrong.”
#
Bonnie didn’t sleep well that night. Tossing and turning on her lumpy bed and jumping every time she heard the howl of a coyote outside her window, her head full of the stories she’d heard over the years about Old Lady Saguaro.
About the year-long drought that plagued their county when a farmer on the edge of town had refused to offer her a cool drink on a hot day. About the man who said a few more harsh words about “the Indian hag” than he was supposed to at the supply store, and then lost his wife and two sons to a sudden bout of smallpox. About one of the proper ladies, one of the prettiest girls for miles, who turned her nose up at a gracious offering of traditional jewelry from the Old Lady, only to get caught in a truly heinous accident with some plowing equipment that left her once beautiful face too mangled to look at not one week later.
The boys always loved gossip, and seemed to come stomping home with one awful tale after another to tell them, wide cheshire-cat grins stretched across their lips. Mother always scoffed, saying they were nothing but tall tales, stories to keep the bored old ladies occupied while they puttered around the house. Bonnie wasn’t so sure.
Now, she wasn’t a genius, having barely just finished her elementary schooling, but something about those tall tales just didn’t seem to line up. She’d never actually seen the Old Lady, only heard the stories. But she remembered all of them, and for every tale about curses and such that her brothers were always talking about, there were the ones that she’d only heard whispered behind cupped hands, and with furtive glances. When the townsfolk didn’t pay any mind to the little girl helping her mother out with her shopping.
About the young widow who had such a hard time caring for her children after her husband never came home from the war, who found hand-woven baskets filled with honeydew melons and corn at her back door every week for months. About the elderly cattle ranchers that invited her to sit with them through a surprise thunderstorm when they saw her walking down the road, and found their breeding stock to have nearly doubled that next month. About the teenage girl who went searching for the Old Lady, and begged her to save her ailing little brother’s life as a last ditch effort, promising whatever they had left. The Old Lady took one of their criollo’s, a spindly heifer, and the boy was back to full health in three days.
Another howl echoed from outside and Bonnie pulled the scratchy sheets up to her chin. No, it just didn’t seem to line up.
#
It was near dusk a few days later when she found herself out in the field behind their ranch house again, moving amongst their small herd of cattle while daddy and the twins filled the troughs by the fence with feed. Her father had returned yesterday from a cattle drive, his mud-caked, spurred boots jingling as he swept her up in a tremendous bear hug and plopped his dusty stetson on her head. She saw the severe line that had marred her mother’s forehead disappear for the first time in weeks that afternoon, and Bonnie couldn’t help but smile.
The sky was turning a light umber as the sun sank below the mountain ridge, and Bonnie felt the first cool brushes of night whisper around her arms in a light breeze. The cows mooed softly around her, rooting around in the shrubs for something to eat that wasn’t bone-dry, and out of the corner of her eye, at the very edge of the field, she saw a shadow. Her braids whipped her neck as her head snapped around. There. Crouching in the wiry shrubs that lined the creek bed was something dark and hulking, carefully slinking along its bank towards the big red rocks behind their property. Bonnie’s body locked up as she watched it from 100 yards away, too far to discern any features until it stopped at the base of one of the rocks, where she knew the trail lined with bluebells started, and turned its massive head.
Bright and glinting even in the low light, two searing suns flashed at her from the shadow. It held her gaze for a few terrifying seconds before whipping around and dashing behind the rocks and out of sight, and Bonnie was finally able to breathe. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, and heard her father call her inside for dinner. The meal was full of gossip again, the twins recounting to daddy what he had missed while he was gone, including the grisly accident that happened to ol’ Harrison. That night, when Bonnie slipped under the covers and tried to go to sleep, her head was full of mutilated flesh and sick heifers, dropping dead in the field and attracting clouds of flies.
Of two burning eyes watching her from every shadow, and when another eerie howl drifted in from the window, she damn near screamed and pulled the covers over her head.
It was just a coyote. Just a mangy coyote.
#
Her mother took her into town the following day, to help carry the baskets full of foodstuffs and rolls of fabric for patching up her dresses. She’d been tearing too many holes in them from running around the fields and climbing the desert rocks with the twins, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be guilty.
It was when they got to the general store and she turned to look at the counter, when she saw ol’ Harrison. Not that the creep was ever much to look at, but Bonnie felt the sharp tang of bile rise up in her throat at the sight of him. His forehead and ear were wrapped in rusty red linens, as was his left arm and most of his shoulder. Some looked to be in dire need of a change if the smell was anything to go by. A few, mainly on his arm, had bright new blood spots dying the linens a bold crimson. With a jolt, she realized that his arm did seem significantly shorter than she remembered it.
He did go and lose his damn arm.
Bonnie felt her mother tug sharply at her sleeve and pull her away before she got caught staring. From behind the shelves as her mother shopped, she peered at him chatting with the clerk, absently itching the stump of his limb every couple of minutes.
“--big, big thing. Big and bony, could feel ‘em when it knocked inta’ me.” Harrison’s voice was raspy and slurred, and she didn’t doubt that he’d been drinking to numb the pain. But Bonnie still couldn’t fathom why the fool was up and walking around town looking like that.
“But what it really was, was them eyes. Just glared inta’ you and left ya’ seein’ spots like ya’ stared inta’ the sun for too long.” She heard the bandages rustle as he sighed. “So bright, but the rest of it…like starin’ at nothin’. Just black. Like a movin’ shadow.”
Bonnie froze again, listening to what Harrison said but not really comprehending it. Those eyes flashed at her again from across the field.
“I dunno what that old bitch did,” he spat, “but if I see her again--”
Bonnie slipped away from the shelves and past her questioning mother and ran out of the general store as fast as she could.
#
The following night was especially cold, a harsh chilling wind cutting its way across the red rocks and sand that stretched for miles in every direction. It whistled as it found its way through the cracks in the house and echoed around her room, sounding too much like a howl for her liking. Bonnie wrapped the blankets around her even tighter. It felt like hours, listening to the unearthly sounds the desert was making just outside her window, like something on the wind was alive and angry. Or maybe sad, with the long, low dirges she would hear every once in a while. Everytime she closed her eyes, it would pick up again, as if it was trying to keep her awake.
She supposed it was in the early hours of the morning, still dark out, when she heard it. Another howl on the wind, but long and searching, and right outside her window. Bonnie peeked her head out from under the sheets and listened in horror as it was followed by the frightened moos and squeals of the cows. There was the sounds of a scuffle, the pounding of hooves against the red dirt, and then a thick thump of something hitting the ground. Another muffled frantic squeal from the cow before it was totally silenced by a sharp, shattering crunch.
Bonnie lay frozen in her bed, heart pounding a harsh staccato against her ribs. She knew what was out there. She knew that if she looked out the window, she would see a hulking shadow digging into the fresh corpse of a heifer. It would turn to look at her, and she would be pinned by two burning stars flashing at her from the darkness. She thought back to what was left of ol’ Harrison, and suddenly her feet were on the cold floor.
Morbid fascination. Her mother always accused the twins of it, but Bonnie figured it was a familial trait with the way she couldn’t stop listening in whenever they came home with a new story. Her parents never wanted her to see darker parts of life out here in the desert; the aftermath of a bad drought that left the land around them littered with the dehydrated rotting corpses of animals; the sick when the town would be swept up by another epidemic; even the inside of a slaughterhouse after a fresh culling.
She knew she was a child. But she was not childish. For once, she wanted to be brave.
As she tiptoed past her parent’s room, she knew she should tell her daddy that a monster was killing the herd, so that he’d get his shotgun and take care of it. But she thought of ol’ Harrison and knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever do that to her daddy.
She could feel the wind against her arms and legs as she got closer and closer to the back door, the chill air creeping in along with the sounds of something thick and wet being torn. She shivered but pressed on until her body was flush with the door, and she eased it open as slowly and quietly as she could.
The sharp smell of the desert at night hit her head-on as she slipped outside; the hazy scent of sagebrush and nighttime cactus blooms. All trying in vain to mask the growing smell of fresh blood. Bonnie edged on her hands and knees to the end of the porch until she saw it, so dark that she could barely see it in the shadows. It rooted around in what she assumed to be the body of a fallen cow, hastily tearing this way and that to get at the good meat.
As she stood there and watched it move in the underbrush, she felt something tingle on the back of her neck. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she got the distinct, gut-wrenching feeling that she was being watched. She slowly turned her head to the other end of the porch where a scraggly hackberry tree was planted.
There, on one of the wiry branches, perched a crow. Its feathers shimmered an opalescent blue in the brief moonlight while it cocked its head at her, almost teasing. Its eyes were two little pinpricks of reflected light that regarded her with an intelligence she wasn’t too comfortable associating with a scavenger. Bonnie cocked her head back at the bird. It rustled its shimmery feathers and opened its beak. Her eyes widened minutely and she tensed her body in preparation to scramble back in the house.
The crow let out a screeching caw, and almost immediately, she felt those burning eyes on her again.The beast howled, an echoing, hollow thing that chilled her much more than the desert night did. Fear hit her right in the marrow of her bones and she started to run, turning first to the door, which looked frighteningly flimsy in that moment. In a split second, she thought of her brothers, cozy in their shared room next to the pantry, and her parents, no doubt cuddled close under one of her mother’s quilts. Bonnie thought of her family behind that flimsy door, and pivoted on her bare heel to bolt down off the porch and into the field.
She could swear she felt the ground shake with every loping step the shadow took as it pursued her. Her breath rattled in her chest and seared her lungs as she tried her best not to inhale too much of the dust she was kicking up. The scrub brush and prickly pears that peppered the ground caught at her bare legs and feet, leaving stinging little cuts that only spurred her forward as she ran towards the creek, towards the big red rocks and the bluebells. She noticed the crow flying above her, and she pumped her legs harder.
Those stories must be worth something. There were two sides to every coin, and she prayed that the Old Lady was in a charitable mood tonight.
Bonnie lept over the dry creek bed and stumbled before pushing on. Air wooshed behind her as the beast literally nipped at her heels and she pivoted again, swinging around the rocks and up the little trail. It spun out and scrambled against the loose dirt, its heavy mass making it lose momentum as she darted to the side. Her legs were burning when she saw the faint light coming from the cabin peek out of the dark.
She wanted to cry. Maybe she already was.
The crow flew up ahead, to perch again on the porch railing. Bonnie swore she felt the hot panting breaths of the beast on the back of her neck, the graze of its claws as it tried to snag her nightgown, and then the cabin was right there, a beacon in the cold night with its homemade wind chimes cluttering the porch beams. She took a final leap and landed heavily on the dusty wood, tumbling over herself in her haste.
The night air around her suddenly went quiet, save for her stuttering gasps as she struggled to catch her breath, and the soft tinkling of wind chimes. She scrambled on all fours and pressed her back against the front door, and turned her gaze around to look at the beast.
Bonnie muffled a scream against her palm. It was right there, not five feet in front of her, hunched at the edge of the porch in front of the first step as if something barred it from moving any further. Here, so close as it towered over her, she got a good look through the fearful tears that welled up in her eyes. Black as the night sky with those two burning yellow suns at the top of what must have been a seven or eight foot frame. A heavy barrel chest sprouted long thin arms tipped with wicked claws that glinted red in the faint light. She was sure it had a snout, long and full of too many teeth, put full on display as it growled at her.
“Now that is enough of that.”
Bonnie screamed again, and scrambled back. Hidden in the shadows in the corner of the porch, she noticed another figure bundled up in one of the sagging wicker chairs. She drew her knees up to her chest and tried to make herself as small as possible.
“Don’t fret, child,” Old Lady Saguaro stood up slowly and hobbled her way to the porch steps. She stood right in front of the beast and tipped her head back to look it square in the eye. “I thought I told you to stop your meddling.”
The air around them was heavy with something Bonnie couldn’t describe, like the air before a thunderstorm, with a quiet strength that tingled up her arms and made her want to hide. The beast seemed to shrink back, a low whine building up in its throat. The knuckles at the ends of its long arms brushed the loose red dirt of the ground as it bowed its great head.
“Oh, don’t. Now you get on out of here, and don’t go bothering this young lady again, understand?” The Old Lady’s voice was strong and husky, like the wind that whipped its way through their home, and had a stern, yet slightly amused lilt to it. Like she was scolding a child.
She lifted her hand and pushed the flat of her palm at the beast, and the air got even heavier, the pressure bearing down against the top of Bonnie’s head and made her hair stand on end. The wind chimes tinkled again and echoed out into the desert.
The beast whined again and took a loping step backwards. It shot one last bone-chilling look at Bonnie curled up at the Old Lady’s feet, before slinking back into the shadows of the night. After a moment, a loud eerie howl broke the tense silence and suddenly Bonnie could breathe again.
“That scoundrel,” she muttered. She lowered her palm and leaned over to lift Bonnie to her feet with a surprising amount of strength before opening the front door and beckoning inside. “Well, come on. You look like you could use some tea.”
Bonnie wavered on her bleeding feet for a moment before moving forward into the warm lamp light of the cabin. The inside smelled of herbs and spices so old that they had creeped into the grain of the wood, along with the flowery scent of bushels of drying flowers hanging from the ceiling. Prickly poppies, Indian Paintbrush, Desert Lilies, and of course the little spots of bluebells that she could see all over the room.
The Old Lady hobbled over to a kettle she had poised over a small rudimentary stove and motioned for her to take a seat at the tiny wooden table in the corner. Bonnie did, and ran her fingers lightly over the various carvings and burn marks that covered its surface. Soon, a chipped, steaming mug was placed in front of her and she immediately wrapped her hands around it, trying to chase away the chill that had seeped into her limbs.
“Yeh, etáhdeh. You are shaking.”
She was.
“The benán-yah-rúnny is gone,” The Old Lady sat across from her with her own mug. “Just breathe, and wipe your tears.”
She did. “T-The…The what?”
“The benán-yah-rúnny. The monster. The one with Staring Eyes That Kill,” She smiled at her sharply, with yellowing crooked teeth. “I believe that it was sent by the Coyote. Yeh, it might be the Coyote. Those tricksters are always changing their shape. Such vain and meddlesome gods.”
The Old Lady Saguero shook her head and sipped her tea and Bonnie could do nothing but stare. She’d never seen her before. Before now, the Old Lady had been nothing but a tall tale that the townsfolk blamed their troubles on. Her skin was dark and weathered from a life in the scorching desert, a stark contrast from her pepper white hair wrapped in a thick braid interwoven with wide white flowers that rested on her shoulder. She had a worn, handwoven serape bundled around her, a rainbow of colors that matched the traditional peyote beadwork around her neck. Bonnie glanced up and jumped, a burning blush working its way up her neck when she saw she’d been caught staring. The Old Lady’s eyes twinkled with mirth, so dark that Bonnie couldn’t see the pupil.
She was reminded of the crow, and asked about it.
“Ah, gáhgi. Yes, they are somewhat of a trickster as well. But they’ve kept me company all these years, so I cannot complain much.”
“It’s…It’s your pet?” Bonnie asked, and the Old Lady laughed.
“Not a pet. A friend. A…partner who helps me learn.”
“Learn what?”
She only smiled, teeth much sharper than they should have been, and the air felt heavy again with an unspoken power. Bonnie thought back to the stories, of the whispers of curses and familiars and old Navajo magic, and yes, she knew.
“Now, I’m sure you are tired, etáhdeh. Drink your tea, it will make you feel better. Then we will get you home.”
Bonnie gripped the mug and eyed the pale liquid inside warily, then glanced back up. The Old Lady was drinking hers, and Bonnie supposed if she had wanted her dead, the woman would have just let the beast rip her apart. With a tired sigh, she braced herself and lifted it to her lips. The tea was sweet and fragrant and reminded her of the honeydew melons her mother grew behind the house. She took a tentative sip and smacked her lips together. It was unlike any tea she’s had before.
“What is this?” she asked. The Old Lady chuckled.
“Cactus tea. From the saguaro blossoms I picked this morning,” The Old Lady stood and went to place her empty mug by the stove. “Do not worry, I did not poison it.”
Bonnie jumped and flushed at getting found out. The tea really was good, and tasted much better than the stuff her mother tried to made her drink. She gulped it down and ignored the way it burned her throat, hurrying to give the mug back and get back home as fast as she could. Eventually, she stood shakily and carefully handed her the mug, then allowed herself to be led back outside. The desert was still cold, and she shivered when a chill wind blew past.
The Old Lady smiled at her and reached for her serape, taking it off before gently wrapping it around Bonnie’s shoulders. The material was thick and scratchy, but warded off the cold better than anything else Bonnie had tried, especially the thin nightgown she had currently.
As the two of them stepped off the porch, the Old Lady turned and waved her hand across the entrance space over the steps. The air turned heavy again and Bonnie tugged the serape tighter around herself as her hair stood on end. After a moment, the Old Lady turned away and started leading her back down the trail to the field, and Bonnie had to tear her eyes from the squat little cabin to watch her step, careful to watch out for scorpions.
They walked in silence for a bit before she found the courage to break it. “What…what was that you were doin’?”
“Just a bit of protection,” she said, “to keep those that roam the night from getting into trouble.”
“Like…charms or somethin’?”
The Old Lady laughed. “I suppose.”
They reached the creek bed and carefully avoided the deep gouges in the dirt from long claws tearing through it in pursuit not 15 minutes earlier. Bonnie shivered again. She opened her mouth to say something else, but closed it after nothing came out.
The walk through the scrub brush was filled with building tension as they got closer to the house, as well as the putrid smell of fresh carnage from the corpse of the fallen cow. Bonnie covered her nose as it came into view, the cavity of its torso ripped open, giving her full view of the mutilated flesh and organs inside. The Old Lady tsked and shook her head.
“What a waste,” she muttered. They sidestepped the corpse and walked the final stretch to the back porch, the door still closed and the lights still off and Bonnie couldn’t help the small twinge of disappointment that skipped in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted her parents or her brothers to be waiting for her, ready to hug and comfort her after everything that happened, but something about it still didn’t feel right.
The smell of raw flesh clung to the inside of her nose and a particularly strong gust of wind blew over the field, howling as it whipped its way through the rocks and canyons around them. She shivered again and took the serape from her shoulders and wrung the old cloth between her fingers before glancing up. “Do…Do you think you could leave some of those…charms here? Maybe just, uh, one or two?”
The Old Lady stared at her, a curious, contemplative look on her face. Bonnie’s breath caught in her throat and she started shifting from one foot to the other like she did when she was nervous.
“Y-you know…for protection.”
At that, the Old Lady smiled sharply and tilted her head back to look around at the width of the house. “It’s a bit bigger than my cabin.”
“W-well--”
“I have just the thing.”
She reached up into her braid and removed one of the flowers that had been woven into it, trading Bonnie with it for her serape. It was a fat and wide blossom, so much so that she held it with two hands, with light, curled white petals with a golden center. It smelled exactly like the tea from earlier.
“Keep that with you whenever you leave your home. It will keep you safe.”
Bonnie looked up at her with a strange expression, and the Old Lady laughed. “It is more than just a flower, etáhdeh. Nature is more powerful than you think. Give it more credit.”
Well, she had seen enough strange things tonight for that to assuage her. With a shaky hand, she hesitantly put the blossom in her hair and looked to the Old Lady for approval, who smiled reassuringly before shooing her inside.
“It is cold and late. You must get back to bed before morning comes. Go, go!”
Bonnie turned and started walking to the door, before she was hit with a thought and turned back around. “But what if the flower wilts and dies?”
“There are always more flowers.”
“But--!”
“Go! Do not worry etáhdeh!”
She still had questions, sitting right there on the tip of her tongue, but opened the door and walked inside the house. It was just a flower, how could it protect her? Bonnie touched the blossom’s soft petals and turned around to say goodbye, but past the porch into the field, there was no sign of her. The Old Lady was gone and the air around her felt heavy again in her absence.
#
Bonnie woke in the morning to her brother’s loud footsteps echoing around the house and her father’s voice shouting something from outside. Eventually, she emerged from bed with a long yawn and a pair of sore feet, stepping gingerly as she made her way down the hall and to the back porch where her brothers were. When she opened the door, they whipped around and pulled her over to point enthusiastically at where their father was looking despondently down at the cow’s corpse.
“You see that! Somethin’ came in the night and slaughtered one of the cattle!” Jesse exclaimed. “Tore it right up!”
“You can see its guts and everythin’!” Jonah whispered dramatically in her ear, and she slapped him away. The twins chattered back and forth for awhile about the gore, gossiping about how it could have been the thing that got ol’ Harrison, before their father called them over to help move the body. Bonnie sighed and went to push her unruly hair behind her ear, but stopped when she felt the soft petals of the flower resting there instead.
She pulled it out and found it just as bright and perfect as it had been when the Old Lady had given it to her, despite the fact that she slept with it. With a faint smile, she tucked it back behind her ear and moved to go back inside for breakfast, but she caught something out of the corner of her eye that made her stop.
Standing tall and proud at the edge of the drooping fence-line of their field, was a saguaro cactus, its prickly limbs sprouting the very same flowers that she had tucked in her hair.
Standing tall and proud at the edge of the drooping fence-line of their field, was a saguaro cactus, its prickly limbs sprouting the very same flowers that she had tucked in her hair.