Part 2 of Blood Merid­i­an paints a vivid and grim pic­ture of the kid’s harsh exis­tence in a des­o­late world. His life is a con­stant strug­gle for sur­vival, char­ac­ter­ized by a relent­less cycle of beg­ging, steal­ing, and try­ing to nav­i­gate a land that feels emp­ty and hos­tile. The kid’s jour­ney takes him through bar­ren, wind-swept land­scapes, where his iso­la­tion deep­ens, and his desire to escape the oppres­sive sur­round­ings grows. Leav­ing behind the once-famil­iar pinewood coun­try, he ven­tures into a new and unfor­giv­ing wilder­ness, where the stars shine above in a sky that offers no solace. The harsh winds cut through the night, mak­ing the air feel cold­er and heav­ier. He avoids the main roads, know­ing that encoun­ters with peo­ple might bring unwant­ed dan­ger. Amid the eerie howls of prairie wolves, he finds tem­po­rary refuge in a small hol­low of grass, where a hob­bled mule stands still, as if guard­ing him from the des­o­late world out­side.

As the day breaks, the kid’s ragged cloth­ing, made from dried leaves, reflects his grim real­i­ty, sym­bol­iz­ing his dis­con­nect from the life around him. The sun casts an unfor­giv­ing, steel-like light over the land, empha­siz­ing the des­o­late nature of his sur­round­ings. The kid’s jour­ney leads him to an encounter with an old her­mit who lives alone in a dilap­i­dat­ed sod hut. The hermit’s red-rimmed eyes sug­gest a mad­ness borne from years of iso­la­tion, and when the kid asks for water, the her­mit hes­i­tates, offer­ing a buck­et of salty, sul­furous water that only adds to the dis­com­fort of the encounter. The inte­ri­or of the hut is dark and damp, lit only by a small fire, and the kid is left to con­front the harsh real­i­ty of his exis­tence. The inter­ac­tion is cold and filled with ten­sion, mark­ing yet anoth­er reminder of the hard­ships and cru­el­ty that define this world.

After the uncom­fort­able exchange over water, the kid leaves the hermit’s hut, feel­ing more iso­lat­ed than before. The her­mit sug­gests he stay to ride out the storm, but the kid, despite the storm’s impend­ing arrival, decides to search for a bet­ter source of water for his mule. After find­ing a makeshift well, he draws water and returns to the her­mit, who insists that the kid stay. As they sit down to share a mea­ger meal, the her­mit opens up about his past, reveal­ing a life steeped in vio­lence and greed as a for­mer slaver. His bit­ter­ness toward humanity’s dark­est sides is evi­dent, but the kid lis­tens with detach­ment, unin­ter­est­ed in the man’s trou­bled his­to­ry. They briefly dis­cuss the world’s cru­el­ty before the storm ful­ly hits, cast­ing them both into a silence marked by the over­whelm­ing weight of the hermit’s words. The kid, weary and dis­turbed, falls asleep, only to wake up and find the her­mit gone, leav­ing the kid to con­tin­ue his soli­tary jour­ney through a harsh and unyield­ing land­scape.

As the kid push­es for­ward, a dust cloud on the hori­zon sig­nals the arrival of a group of cat­tle herders, trav­el­ing toward Louisiana. The herders share their sto­ries of the dan­gers they’ve faced on the trail, hint­ing at the law­less­ness of the land they’re tra­vers­ing. The kid, still grap­pling with the after­math of his pre­vi­ous expe­ri­ences, begins to think about his next steps. He con­tem­plates trav­el­ing to Bexar, a rough and dan­ger­ous place that promis­es only more vio­lence and uncer­tain­ty. The kid is forced to con­front the real­i­ty of his life and the choic­es ahead of him, unsure of where his path will lead. The chap­ter clos­es with the kid mov­ing for­ward into the unknown, his fate as uncer­tain as ever, weighed down by the vio­lence and loss that have defined his jour­ney so far. As he rides into the future, the cru­el­ty of the world and the harsh­ness of the land con­tin­ue to fol­low him, ever-present as he strug­gles to sur­vive in a world that offers lit­tle hope.