One goat, and a gravedigger sitting on a stone under shade of trees, peering into his mobile phone and jabbing at it with dirt encrusted thumbs.
It was one of those infernal summer days when the heat suffocated any notion of slumber. On days like this, he would get up and pace around until nightfall when he could hunt under the cover of darkness; he wasn’t afraid of humans, but he’d seen what their thunder-sticks could do.
He glanced up at the sky, licked his calloused lips; a few more hours till sunset.
Then the goat was his.