“How do you know?” Projector drew exaggerated lines on his forehead to illustrate his disbelief.
Mountain Man took a deep breath, cavernous nostrils flaring to let in more air.
“I’m bound to the land, little man. The hills are my shoulders. The trees are my lungs. Water that rushes and tumbles down the rivers is the blood that flows through my veins. When the wind bends the tall grass in the fields, I feel it like the hairs on my arms. When something’s not right in the earth, it’s right there in my gut.”
He scratched at his beard, dirty fingernail tracing the promontory of his jaw.
“How do I know? When there’s someone tunnelling, way down deep, in a big machine that snorts and spews and chews up rocks and leaves rubble for droppings? I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones.”