Angry clouds rumble. The faint swirls of the remains drift through the knoll. Smoke fingers break and disperse. Front winds clean up the last of it. Embers of trees sizzle as the brush of drizzle arrives. The work of the lightning quelled by its rainy shadow. Still angry clouds rumble. Unseen hands throw rain bitterly to the fields.
Stephen runs from the woods. His young eyes hope to spy a break in the weather. Instead the weather spits harder. He tucks his head within his jacket. It’s turned collar worthless. Innocence of young eyes glow with a dull sheen. His eight years are enough to know the way but unable to get by the bridge.
“Davey! Davey!” Stephen raises his face to the rain. A voice ripples in fear and wavers hope. ”Davey! I know you are here! Come help me!”
Stephen looks left and right. The darkness of evening…
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