They were watching, out there past men's knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea. - Cormac McCarthy

When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.

By early evening all the sky to the north had darkened and the spare terrain they trod had turned a neuter gray as far as the eye could see. They grouped in the road at the top of a rise and looked back. The storm front towered above them and the wind was cool on their sweating faces. They slumped bleary-eyed in their saddles and looked at one another. Shrouded in the black thunderheads the distant lightning glowed mutely like welding seen through foundry smoke. As if repairs were under way at some flawed place n the iron dark of the world.

Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.