Sheriff Brody squinted at the sun baked patch of earth. 

Mrs. Gable clutched her apron. Squinted at Mr. Lambert.

His jaw was like granite. His thin lips pinched tight.

“He moved the marker, Sheriff! Again!” she hissed.

Lambert grunted. Kicked a pebble. Stirred up dust.

Brody saw it. The nearly invisible line. Where the ancient oak’s shadow used to fall.

That line had shifted endlessly with the seasons. Just like their animosity. 

Brody sighed. The dust settling on his boots and in the dead silence between them. 

He knew the real fence.

It ran deeper than any property line.