Deepwood Weald [m] bodies

you wish for your daughter to come home, sì?
a mud-caked talon, reaching, dragged across a pristine jawline. i saw her, you know, just the other day. a little girl. she looked just like you. it makes sense now, warm, warm breaths, a warm heart lodged deep in the chasm of chest — oh, how the chemicals flood him! she traveled eastward. He will guide you to her, but only if you listen close.
with a soft jerk, he pulls her gaze to the inkblack above; visible between the stalking limbs of the trees. He has sent me to you. do you see Him? do you hear His call, baby?

a soft, quivering croon. silence, for her, but in his ears is the swelling chorus of the angels.

i can help you if you will let me.