⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡀⣄⣂⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⣀⢀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣶⣶⣿⣷⣾⣦⣵⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣬⡀⡈⠀They rode on. The sun past its meridian turned conversionward
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣧⣂⠀and the world on the tablet of whose face they were no more
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣜⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠠⣄than strays or chapters in some chronicle of the past began to
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⠟⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⡀recover its color. A vast wetness overspread the playa.
⠀⠀⠀⣰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⢐⠻⣝⡇⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠄⠑⡀The horses picked their way through the standing water
⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡀⠀⢄⡑⢿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢩⠀and the riders sat slumped and sodden in their saddles.
⣴⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣄⡀⠀⠁⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢗⢁ They crossed a limestone ridge where the rocks were
⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣶⣢⣶⣼⣿⣿⣿⣯⠋⠻⠝⠉⠀⠉⠺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡖⢮⠂ white as bones and they entered a basin that was dry⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠹⠿⠿⠹⠿⡿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠿⠿⠉⠏⠉⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡆ and white and alkaline and smelled of sulfur.⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣀⠀The sun rode down the sky and the shadows of the riders
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡟⢋⡀⢀⣤⣀⠄⡢⡤⠀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢦⡂⣴⣂⣀⣄⠠⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡤⡀⠀lengthened across the valley floor until they reached
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣡⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣃⢠⡀ the base of the eastern mountains where they rose up
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡼⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣷⠾⠃⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠠⡀⣀⠘⠘⠛⢿⡿⠛⢿⣿⣿⠿⢻⣑⣲⠟ the dark slopes like giant geometricians or ⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⡾⢏⠚⡀⠀⠉⠉⠋⠙⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠉⢀⣴⣶⡄⣇⣮⠁⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⣀⢔⠝⠁⠀⠀surveyors measuring the world. The night 
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣟⠑⠀⠀⠈⠒⠀⠐⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢯⣦⠘⠛⠉⠚⡘⠉⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢒⣵⣿⡆⠀⠀gave definition to their journey. They rode under 
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⣀⣠⠤⡂⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠠⡒⢂⢨⢴⡄⠄⠀⣤⡪⠂⢸⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀a canopy of stars that burned with a fierce and
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⠛⠮⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣺⢾⣿⣿⡾⠊⢀⣼⠞⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀ ancient light, a cold and indifferent clockwork
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⡸⠈⠉⠁⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣲⣷⣟⢿⠋⣁⣾⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡥  that turned above the vast and empty wastes of the earth.
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠬⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⢟⢛⡻⡋⡟⠉⠕⣉⢩⣿⣄⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧  The world through which they traveled seemed 
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠠⠂⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿  a thing unmade, a raw and unfinished blueprint where
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠸⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿  the elements still warred in the dark and the
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣒⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿   spirit of God had not yet moved upon the face of the 
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣳⣀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ waters. They moved like men destined to 
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣹⢧⢲⢦⠔⠦⢄⣄⣠⣢⠤⡢⢄⣠⣀⣠⢄⡤⣠⠠⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ a common grave, their faces shadowed beneath 
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⢾⣿⡟⡿⣿⡿⢯⣯⣽⣾⣷⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ the brims of their hats, silent, austere, engulfed
Blood Meridian⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⡿⣿⣏⢳⡞⡵⠩⢜⢿⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ by a silence so profound that the ticking of
by Cormac McCarthy⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣿⣝⢦⢛⡖⢴⢫⠒⣁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ their horses' hooves upon the stone sounded like
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣏⣿⢱⠾⣏⠏⡾⣶⠉⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣉⠀the counting out of their own brief and numbered days.