Maybe he's dead though, he thought as he grabbed a tree trunk and swung onto the trail next to the bottom. He dodged a tree branch, then rounded a bush and saw Fred next to the stream. He stopped and the sandy air curled around him. The gurgle of water over rocks drowned out every other sound. He knelt down next to Fred. Fred was flat and bloody on one side and something liquid was coming out of his mouth. Donny lifted him and Fred was always breathing and now he was limp. Fred didn't even smell alive. Donny buried his eyes in his cocked right arm and sobbed. A puddle of tears formed in the crook at his elbow. The rush of gentle water swept over the rocks in the stream. Donny looked at Fred and clumsily got to his feet. He started walking toward his home with his dog in his arms. Donny's stomach felt a stream of blood run down onto his pants. "I'll bury 'im in our back yard," he thought He stepped carefully over jutting rocks and tree roots on the trail. A butterfly whisked a leaf in front of him. He stopped. Donny stood still. I can still wonder about things that fly, thought Donny. That looks like the same kind of butterfly, he thought. Tear trails formed black edged streaks on Donny's face. Donny again began to walk down the trail. He wiped annoying tears from his face with his forearm. He saw his home in the distance as he passed a group of trees. As he walked, the dog's legs flopped limply and lightly on his arms. 28 GEOMETRY Noel Whittaker Parallels Are the strange, kindred Life-paths That course beside our own. Hyperbolas, Those alien parts, that Glance a blow And shy away. And tangents Are the lines of Our own making That lead us out On the tangent plane Parallel to the hyperbola That is universal life. 29