Lost Creek Hollow my father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die

despite the clouds that gathered grim and foreboding overhead, the sylph made no gesture towards seeking shelter. instead she prowled along the split rocks, belly growling as fiercely as the skies overhead. it was desperation that caused her to stay out when all other life had sought safety -- as she pulled a flat-sided rock from the earth and roused worms from their coverage a flash of lightning snarled and clapped overhead.

she paused long enough in her rumination to see a figure sheltered under the eaves of swaying trees; he was far smarter than she for seeking reprieve under the aegis of the copse. at first believing the figure to be kierkegaard she stalked towards him, yet as she drew close enough to behold the fierceness of his gaze and the youthful angulation of his limbs she released his error. hackles rifled and jaw set in an uncompromising stare, caiaphas hissed at the eerily familiar apparition. "who are you?"