Sun Mote Copse Man or machine.

Perdition stood, petrified, with fear, as the first raindrops began to hit him. He could not stop thinking about the night he had been struck. He tried to calm himself down, telling himself that the likelihood of being struck ever again was slim to none. But rational thought did nothing for him. The thought of lightning had become his kryptonite. His legs shook, and nerve pain traced along his lightning scars as he stood, somewhere in the trees, staring blankly ahead. He did not register the woman when she approached, for he was somewhere far away in his own mind. His shoulders and the muscles in his back twitched uncontrollably, and on his face was a horrible grimace, one he did not know he was making. He probably looked crazy, in that moment, or full of rage, the fur along his spine and the back of his neck tufted up. Every time a raindrop hit him anywhere on his face, he flinched.