Rune took his time picking up the sandwich. He gave it a cursory once-over, and brushed at the dirt with his sleeve, and then inspected it more closely. Finally though, he deemed the sandwich unsatisfactory, tossed it back to the floor, and faced Greg. The latter wiped a tear, sighed audibly, and remarked,

“Look Rune, I’m sorry – about the sandwich, that is. But you understand – so you’ll tell me now, right?”

Rune’s face was unused to the lines that now creased it, so he relaxed.

“Greg – "

It was the first thing he had said that day – perhaps all week, for all Greg knew, and it was clear that Rune was having trouble getting the words out. Still, he continued.

“- Greg. Do you remember eighth grade, when Andy Viks got his hands on a hunting rifle and…”

Greg nodded sagaciously.

“Sure do. Guy – offed himself, yeah. Not older than what, fourteen? Nothing but trouble. Good rid-”

Rune cut him off.

“He has a son, Greg, a Brandon Viks. And he knows. Someone told him about us. About all of it. All of it.”