"Yeah, they got cotton," Samuel says quietly, stonily, eyes on the field beyond as he dismounts.

"Ain't th'only thing they got," John mutters, inclining his chin to the bush, before pointing for Jay's benefit.

The men and women working the field are black, already looking tired, worn, and raggedy.

Samuel stops at the fence, brushing his nose with his thumb absently as he sniffs, staring out at the fields across the way. At some length, he drops his eyes to the fence and begins to assess the work they have in front of them.