Dear Logan,

It's best you're not here. Death's come for the wild things. Burnt dry in the heat, there's nothing left. Not even the song of a bird can travel this thick air.

While coming here to write you, I cut through the north pasture. The bulk of the horses were pressed against the fence in a most peculiar manner. I started to get scared from their presence. You smelled fear on them and I was ready to bolt, myself. As I got closer, two horses stood out against the scorched grass. Like monoliths wrapped in ripples of invisible fire, they stood. One, a pale, yellow mare, stood stock still, even her sides evidence to a lack of motion. The other, a chestnut stallion had his feet planted in the ground, but shook his head in that manner wild horses do so well at. As though he were denying something vehemently. His whinny had turned to a low scream the closer I got. Sounds don't echo anymore on this land. At first I thought it was a trick of the heat, the off-white puddle in front of them. Then, I prayed it was a trick, a joke, anything but what your eyes told me. A foal, the same coloring as the mare lay still at their feet. Dead. Healthy, full of life, a perfect specimen. Killed by the sun. Blood burnt until boiled. Innocent, uncompromised. Just a few days ago, its most important task was following around a butterfly. And now, it lays there, a body of death, soon to decay. The flies are already crawling. They've no respect for the innocent. And the stallion, shaking his head with that keening cry. And the mare, so still. As though she were willing herself along with her offspring. I can scarce breathe with the weight of it all.

I can't cry, Logan. And I need to scream. But you can't hear sounds that don't cast. What do I do? There's no one here to tell and I'm a ghost. Speech evades me, yet but more. I'll never speak again, my voice rode the waves with the foal. The mare will soon follow. And what of me will die next? Come home, Logan, I need you. I'm lost and only you know the way back. The you out there. The you in here...as lost as I am, and it's getting dark. The wolves will be out soon. I won't ever leave these trees. A puddle on the ground, a trick of the heat. Erik won't let me go. Not ever. And soon, he won't let me out. You have to come home. I need a way out. Come home. Rip a hole in me and let me out. It's the only way. Rip right through and follow me down. We'll be free on the otherside. I'm sure of it. I have to be. It's all I have left. I can't touch, I can't feel, I can't prove I'm real. Nothing, nothing. Emptiness surrounds. Even the black of these eyes can't see the shapes. Just blind for blind. No echoes, nothing resonates here. Nothing. You're so far away. You all are so very far. So cold. Everything's so clear here, in this death. There is nothing. And I have it all.

                         Love,
                         Marie