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

It was not long before the presence of another disturbed the peace of the oncoming storm. Kavos had sighted her before she had closed the space between them. His molten stare followed the sharp movements of her body as she cut across the landscape and set her path toward him. There was something about the way she stepped that spoke of recognition, but the savage young ghost had never seen the woman before. Unmoving from his statuesque reprieve of the wild winds and lashing tempests, the boy allowed for her to swing toward him and draw herself near. It was not until she had closed a vast majority of the distance between them that she then spoke, and he saw that she had realized her error.
 
“Who are you?”
 
The brute regarded her with a lifted skull and a clean swipe of his salmon tongue along the pale hairs of his muzzle. The hooded female was shocked at him, but he did not understand why. Nor did he care. The bristling of his coat was natural, constant, but he pulled his molten gaze from her features and turned toward the skies. There was a moment in which he judged just how long it would take for the storm clouds to pass overhead. Too long for him to venture out and risk having to endure them.
 
“Kavos.”