Hushed Willows Scary, right? Wait until you hear the bad news.

Last from me! Would be hilarious if someone found him screaming at the trees.

The clouds eddied too quick, clotted together like mashed potatoes carried on a river of gravy, and darkened as they went. The trees shuddered, and their tendrilous hair whipped at the path he stood on; some reached out to him, but as soon as the branches touched a hair on his body, they seemed to recoil. The weather was turning abysmal, and quickly. 

There was a violent sound above Stark's head — abrupt, alien — like the tearing of a giant piece of velcro. The roar of rain came next without hesitation, and soon the Keep was being drowned in a deluge. Through the sound of the rain falling was the dimly recognizable sound of crying, the ceaseless overflow of grief — you've left me all alone! —