I'm still mourning the loss of a CD with about four stories on it, I'm doing a lot of re writing. Which is sort of good for the soul. There's always something you missed the first time around and I like to think it ends up better than what you wrote originally. I have to keep telling myself that or I will cry.
So I was in Suffolk this weekend in the middle of a pitch black forest. Not good. Me and forests have never got on. Ever since I was thirteen and I went away to a summer camp and someone had the bright idea of taking a evening walk... I swear to you, I heard a wolf, that's all it could have been, there was freakin' growling. My friend, three years younger at the time, fell over and I still picked her up and legged it. It was probably a twig breaking, but in my mind a drooling, mad wolf was coming to eat me. I was alright this time around. There were torches. And no howling.
As you may have noticed from the above story, I am a wimp. But I'm braving fear and horror so I can introduce you to Gabriel Walker, who is the hero of my (wait just counting - never mind) next story. Spiritual men are a wonder. Men who respect the balance of the world with unknown entities. Men who would brave the devil and his hordes for you. Men who just need a flaming sword and wings and they'd be at the gates of heaven. Did I mention he's a musician?
See the sacrifices I make for you?