Her heavy eyelids almost refused to stay open, and she knew if she let them close she would instantly drop to sleep.

And she wanted to hear the storm-wind in the pines.
A few drops of cold rain fell upon her face, thrilling her with the proof that no roof stood between her and the elements.

Then a breeze bore the smell of burnt wood into her face, and somehow her quick mind flew to girlhood days when she burned brush and leaves with her little brothers.

The memory faded.

The roar that had seemed distant was now back in the forest, coming swiftly, increasing in volume.