Mir the Hessian lay curled up among the rocks, his hands between his legs, his chin on his breast, beyond hunger, beyond fear. Abandoned by God.
The wolves had scattered the bones of Mir the Hessian, varried his skull to the edge of the water, left a tarsus on the hill, dragged a femur into the den. After the wolves came the crows, and after the crows the scarab beetles. And after the beetles, another soldier, alone in the hills, far away frome everyone. For the war was not yet over.
[Lydia Davis, Mir the Hessian
da The collected stories, Penguin Books 2013]