quote · Legacy record
He’s focused on something—or someone—over her shoulder.The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.“What—who is it?” Summer asks in a strained whisper.His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. “The Forsaken.
He’s focused on something—or someone—over her shoulder.The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.“What—who is it?” Summer asks in a strained whisper.His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. “The Forsaken.
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- Author or tradition
- Laura Kreitzer
Attribution: attributed - Country attributed
- Not established
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- Historical period not yet established
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- Contributor-provided quotation collection
Supplied reference C; CSV row 222578; supplied attribution, independently unverified
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