The grass is hot and full of insects and neither of you cares about either.

MioneHere. No — like that, slower, I want to feel it.

She is wet and grass-stained and she laughs when something bites her ankle, and she does not stop laughing until she stops entirely.

You get two fingers into her and her back arches off the ground and something goes up out of the hedge in a panic.

Afterwards she lies with one arm over her eyes and says, to the sky: well. That was worth the war.