conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Kingdom, Ditch, Through with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Poetry?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Winterkill'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Winterkill
  Nate Romanowski knew trouble was on the way when he saw the falcon's wings suddenly flare in the distance. Something beyond his eyesight was coming fast.
  It was cool and crisp in the desert, and the light dawn breeze smelled of dust and the rotting carcasses of dead wild horses who had drunk at a poisoned spring.
  The rising sun bathed the eastern sky ocher and silhouetted the rock haystacks and hoodoos into a dark snaggletoothed horizon. It was the best time of day, he thought: the anticipatory moment before the morning light lifted the curtain on the terrain to reveal the reds, pinks, oranges and beiges of the striations in the bone-dry rock formations and revealed the rugged, broken terrain. The desert was made up of canyons, arroyos, and vast sheets of hard-packed clay that had been sculpted through history first by magma, then water, and now wind.
  Nate had learned that in the morning the desert didn't wake up. Instead, it shut down. Herds of pronghorns moved from the sparse grassy bottoms where they'd been grazing through the night to the high desert plateaus where they could be seen for miles—and where they could be on the lookout for predators. Herds of wild horses, with their cracked hooves and woolly jug-heads, trotted across openings, headed for the shade of wind-formed rock oddities that looked in the right light like Doric columns that remained from ancient ruins.
  It was in the early morning hours when cottontails retreated to their dens and upland game birds moved from feeding on seeds and grass to structure and safety.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know four more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Then Nate felt a vibration through the ground itself. It was remarkable in the desert how he could feel something coming before he could see or hear it.
  A motley herd of twelve or thirteen shaggy horses thundered over the wide northern horizon. One by one they appeared, manes flying and nostrils flared. The rhythm of their hoofbeats increased in volume, and they were far enough away that the sound was disconnected from their movement.
  The horses came toward him over the hardpan, kicking up a spoor of dust that hung in the air behind them. They were getting close enough now—maybe a hundred and fifty yards away—that the sound of their pounding hooves started to sync with their movement.
  Not until they were twenty-five yards away did the animals part and run by him on both sides. The ground shook. Before he closed his eyes against the dust, he caught glimpses of white-tinged eyes, flared nostrils, matted manes, and scabbed-over wounds on their flanks. They were sorrels, mostly, but the lead stallion was black with a single white sock. Their smell lingered after they'd gone, a heavy musk that was part dried sweat, part caked mud.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He reached across his body with both hands and pulled his weapons. With the muzzles pointed down, he thumbed back the hammers.
  Nate woke up with a start and a shout and sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes were wide and his bare skin was beaded with sweat and strands of his long blonde hair stuck to his neck and shoulders.
  Olivia Brannan turned around from where she'd been packing a suitcase on an old pine dresser. She'd chosen not to turn on the light so as not to disturb him while he slept and she'd been using the ambient light from the hallway to see.
  Liv Brannan spoke with a soft Louisiana cadence that always seemed to wrap him in a warm blanket. Sometimes, he asked her questions to which he knew the answers. She was the only woman he'd ever been with whom he encouraged to keep speaking.