A rivulet branched from the bolt’s main tributary and grabbed him. It fused the quadrants of his skull, vised his teeth and sheared the tip of his tongue. Though he resisted, it pried his fingers apart and the music escaped once more into the storm.
Spitting pain and blood, the man tracked the bolt across the valley and watched it explode at some point far beyond the distant peaks.
END CHAPTER 6
Stacked-Up Book Thoughts: Spring Reading - Spring has definitely sprung in central Pennsylvania! Thanks to a changing climate, everything is blooming at the same moment: forsythia, tulips, forget-me...