The dried gumbo of the prairie, a powder fine as flour, rose in a cloud behind him, filling his mirrors with gray commotion.
The trailer looked abandoned, as if it had been placed here centuries ago, until it had weathered into the land and become a natural thing.
…the Badlands, where stone skeletons rose from the land year after year, a rebirth by erosion, an alphabet of bone that, read rightly, told a story stretching back to the endless water of the Bearpaw Sea. In the Badlands the earth became an organ moaning musically and incessantly when the wind was right…
The land controlled where they could go, and the moved within its maze.