It had once been an animal, that much is certain. The sun has shrunk the water bottle to one-third its size, and the remaining mass is slumped over an adjacent rock. The pit forming in my stomach mirrors the nugget-sized carcass at the bottle’s center. Four legs pulled into a torso, no fluffy tail, leather holes where eyes once blinked. Mammal, reptile, or amphibian, the sun and humidity don’t care. They kill now. Together.