Silvertip Mountain sometimes it makes me wonder why i even bring the thunder

set to evening of the 17th

WHERE'S MY SON?!

It was a wonder how Verx even managed the holler, as much as he'd yelled the past two days. It rang out hoarse and sharp, a far cry from its normal rumbling power, but still carried well enough. And there was no denying the fury in it.

He was close. Dragomir's scent was growing stronger, as were those of whoever had taken him. (Or had he gone by choice? Vercingetorix wasn't taking a chance.)

Come out, come out, fuckers! he called out, his tone a nasty mimicry of old nursery rhymes.

Verx was prepared to die for his boy, here on this mountain. As he continued to ascend, the thunder began to roll, and the wind rose along with his untethered rage.