‘ tourists give me heartburn. ’
He’s got a hip cocked against the dam’s railing, face turned into the warmth of the sun. It’ll be too soon before seven years of naught but the damp chill of concrete halls and buzzing LEDs are all they have. Much too soon for a man who can only just tolerate the relative liberty of walls above the Earth. Jacob indulges a long exhale, shifting so his back presses against the sun-baked metal. Arms fold across his midriff, the shifting of muscle causing half-closed sores to crack and weep. He doesn’t even notice. One of the few things he doesn’t. Instead he’s occupied watching the man he can only just recognize as his baby brother stomp up the steps as if each committed some personal offense. It’s a far, far cry from the bright-eyed child whose weeping Jacob had never been able to bear.
The indignant tread is only half so amusing as when the youngest brother catches sight of a gaggle of tourists below. Over-packed, under-prepared and phones extended overhead in direct contradiction to the majesty of nature unfolded behind them. Jacob himself had frowned on noticing them. Soft. Weak. Everything wrong with humanity in this age of looming crisis. But John shares an expression with a man who’s just trod in a pile of dogshit. Tourists give me heartburn, indeed. One broad palm covers the curl to Jacob’s mouth, blunt-tipped fingers rasping against that red beard. It does nothing to conceal the amusement in eyes so much lighter than his brother’s.
“Easy fix,” Jacob drawls, gesturing to the sheep in human form. And oh, he hasn’t even said it yet and his mouth is twisting into a smirk. “Stop eating them.”