Sleepy Fox Hollow Really too late to call so we wait for morning to wake you

these two have to stop hurting me ;-;
But he was running. Running, fast - on long legs he had hardly grown into. He heard his mother behind him, her voice calling plaintive over the whistling of the wind in his ears. And she was right! He had to stop running, he had to!

But he didn't. Running was what he knew, what he did best, what cleared his mind by chasing all the dark thoughts out. He would run until he was exhausted, tears streaming down his face -- and then he would collapse in a heap somewhere once he was sure he was far away from any prying eye, and sob abundantly into the cold and unmoving snow.

and it brings me to you, but i won't just past through
i'm not asking for a storm.