Elsewhere on the mountainside, Ezra was driving the horses homeward. The big Suffolk mares were anticipating the storm to come and were directed toward the homestead and pulled accordingly. With a hurried trot they turned the last corner and their reinleader stirred them to a lope. Fallen tree in tow, destined to burn. Horses, teamster, iron and fuel under darkening skies moved like an old funeral procession through a crowd clapping little shadows in and out of existence. Ezra is fauna.