Deepwood Weald [m] bodies

His voice, droning in her ears; she scarcely heard him but knew that he was lying, lying, liar, LIAR and she

couldn't breathe

touching her, he was touching her

Carlisle, his blue eyes; Brockleigh’s bell-chime laughter;

and somewhere in it her voice finally found her. No, Gut twisting, throat burning, and the stars flickered between the trees and no! NO! Snapping wildly, teeth clicking together, catching nothing but air. Whatever he heard was not for her. Static in her ears; shattering, shattering.