If you do not my question repeats. The sun's edge frays off into cloud. Only now are you aware of a dense knot above you, growing denser, ravelling up the unsung stuff. The air shudders. The trees tighten, and not a twig but would snap to stop it.
Every root muscles deep.
The lake is beautiful as pewter, with a faint metallic tang. There is no way out. If you believe me, pine away. Young man, the nobird cannot lie. But I admire your pluck.