There’s a place she likes to sit, wishing and knowing it goes into the voided sunset, most of the time it’s grey, an empty field, a machine being pumped up in the distance. The crops aren’t ready yet, and it looks like it was going to rain but never does. When the rain comes it designs a lake of nothing but fear, usually followed by several storms rolling in, her favorite place to escape and stare off for awhile. The poor German shepherd in a cage to the right also longingly looks to escape but for most of the time he joins her in the escape. When the rain comes he will whimper, wanting to be comforted back in the moldy basement beneath the unfamiliar ruckus of fighting, it never makes sense, and the sun they are both waiting for will take a few months to show its face, and there will be crops again, and strobes of light coming through the playing setting of the forest where she and her wild companions will meet again to run around and explore never to step in the same sinking mud twice .