Whitewater Gorge some girls hate their bodies

He’d rather be alone than hear whosever voice that was. It was loud and demanding. His very bones seemed to rattle by its base. And the man, well, Abel would expect no less from someone with such a voice. He towered over the child’s shrinking form, even with the distance between them.
Too scatterbrained now to coherently think, he stammers, N-Nobody. Like a fool. I’m just — I’m looking for my sister.