el soldado

Run, Jane, run, we hear Joe cry. I turn in time to see Jane run. True, she runs. But how she runs. Oh, my, she runs. All four tree trunks-for-legs, all tusks and ears she is. And we run, too. We hope to distract them from their sport; we’re not the sort of men to shoot game like Jane. And then we hear him. Dick has come. Sounds like a freight train. Sounds mad male. Sounds like things just changed for Jane.