They were in the living room. Saying their br goodbyes. Loss ringing in their ears. br They'd been through a lot together, but now br they couldn't go another step. Besides, for him br there was someone else. Tears were falling br when a horse stepped out of the fog br into the front yard. Then another, and br another. She went outside and said, br 'Where did you come from, you sweet horses?' br and moved in amongst them, weeping, br touching their flanks. The horses began br to graze in the front yard. br He made two calls: one call went straight br to he sheriff - 'someone's horses are out.' br But there was that other call, too. br Then he joined his wife in the front br yard, where they talked and murmured br to the horses together. (Whatever was br happening now was happening in another time.) br Horses cropped the grass in the yard br that night. A red emergency light br flashed as a sedan crept in out of fog. br Voices carried out of the fog. br At the end of that long night, br when they finally put their arms around br each other, their embrace was full of br passion and memory. Each recalled br the other's youth. Now something had ended, br something else rushing in to take its place. br Came the moment of leave-taking itself. br 'Goodbye, go on,' she said. br And then pulling away. br Much later, br he remembered making a disastrous phone call. br One that had hung on and hung on, br a malediction. It's boiled down br to that. The rest of his life. br Malediction.