A half mile.

He'd watched the odometer. A half mile from the house, he could see pink flecks: the fence. Sometimes, he laughed to himself the whole way there.

This time, it was different. Coming close, slowing the truck to a stop, he noticed fallen rails and missing posts. West stepped out, ignoring the handful of groceries for the moment as he moved toward the fence.

He sifted through the moments, finally seeing, watching.

West stared at the fence long after the threads of Time re-wove into the present, thinking. Considering.

Making up his mind, he headed back into the house, and made his way into his room. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for, and after that, he headed the barn. He swung the axe just hard enough to sink it into one of the front porch posts, and released it, leaving it.Then, he hung the Stetson on it.

West had never been great with words. She'd figure it out.