A broad handsome smile appeared on Davey's face as Alison spoke, yet his perceptive eyes picked up on something in her. Still keeping her hand, he brought his other hand up to her cheek, cupping it gently in a gesture that could have been interpreted as either a friendly one or loving one. Sincerity in his eyes brushed away any contemplation as he said, "It'll work out fine. Don't worry."

He jogged back into the garden to conduct his business, pulling a notepad and pencil out of his pocket. Armed with a charismatic smile and a barrage of interview questions, he quickly engaged the couple to allow Alison time to go to work.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

What could go wrong after that kind of reassurance? Smiling as she brushed her fingers where Davey�s hand had touched her cheek, Alison watched him jog off, realizing only after he�d gone that Davey could have tackled the Haitians and leave her with the easier task of diverting the Rushings. It had never come up. Somehow she didn�t think that smart when Davey was around. His optimism made seeking other paths seem a waste of time.

Perhaps he was right.

Checking her appearance in a mirror, Alison rubbed a fingertip over a tiny crease on her brow. Silly worry frowns. Mocking a deep frown at herself, the young woman laughed and strode off to find the Haitians, or rather one of them. She did not want the daughter, the girl�s demeanour had been too flawlessly subservient. And although Alison had no real hopes where the woman was concerned, she knew where to find her which was more than she could say for the man.

For that reason Alison ambushed the woman when she cleared away the remains of their tea. �Excuse me, miss�, she opened as she walked straight up. Unfamiliar with the woman�s name, Alison settled for addressing her as �miss�, even though it wasn�t quite proper, and smiled - friendly, she hoped. �I was wondering if someone could help with my equipment.� She waited for a reaction from the other before confirming the Rushings were still out of sight by a swift look over her shoulder. Now she was certain the other couldn�t hide behind not understanding the language � a popular game played by the locals on Penang - the young blonde took a step closer to the other woman. �And I need more help than just the luggage... Please.� She stated as she sought to meet the servant�s gaze. �I know you can answer my questions. What happened to the cows would alert any believer.�


The Haitian woman, perhaps in her late twenties, stood with a proud posture. Although conditioned to wear British dresses, she chose ones with light black cotton and gold patterns reminiscent of her traditional clothing. Her hair was held up with interlacing flowers. High cheek bones delivered black and wizened eyes.

Alison's initial request was understand but after looking over her shoulder to see the Rushings were being escorted further into the garden for an interview, the woman simply looked at her blankly. It took a sturdy pause before she spoke.

A thick French accent drowned her words, but Alison could make it out.

"We must protect our daughter," she said, "there are things we should not discuss."

Closing the conversation with averted eyes, the woman began heading to the door to retrieve Alison's luggage.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

If the woman thought that was the end of the conversation, she was mistaken. Alison followed the other to the Jeep, pointing out which pieces she needed. �I understand your reluctance.� She agreed sincerely. �But what if your daughter�s case is not alone? Other parents are frightened as well. You protect those you love, but not everyone has that knowledge.� She pleaded, taking up a few of the smaller pieces of luggage to delay their return to the mansion. �Do you at least know someone who might tell me more?� Only that last try to see if the woman would lend her that much help. She would not go any further. Privately, Alison sympathized with the Haitian woman. Any other mother would have done the same.


"All children are in danger," she said taking some equipment, "but we cannot help all children. We can only help our daughter. The diable come for les enfants. We blind le diable. Take its tongue so it cannot speak. Take its eyes so it cannot hear."

The woman stood in front of Alison to make absolutely sure their eyes were connected. A stern face emitted a gut-driven intensity that caused the finer points of her face to tremble slightly.

"You have never seen horror before."

Then back to work she muttered almost under her breath, "What are a few vaches...."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Although Alison did not comprehend every word of the woman�s speech, the message came across loud and clear. Despite the tropical temperatures, a shiver crawled up her spine. Alison was no stranger to pain and cruelty. Although she and her family had been relatively fortunate, the Japanese had made certain everyone knew the consequences of bad behaviour. Bad years, but it had been war, and war changed people. It turned them into beasts, not into devils preying on harmless children in the night.

Alison clutched the flashlight case in her arms as she met the Haitian woman�s intense gaze. Hypnotizing. Like a snake. She thought. And, She has strength. I wonder if she is a priestess in her religion. Stepping aside to let the other woman pass, the youthful blonde followed, unsure what to make of the mother�s revelations.

She pointed to a spot where the trees provided some shadow. �Over there, I think.� Giving the example by marching over, Alison avoided direct eye contact. Her fingers trembled as she set up her tripod and camera, but she did not return to the subject of the penangal.


The Haitian woman waited patiently for Alison to take her photographs and even allowed a shot or two of herself, before offering to take the equipment inside. By the time they returned to the garden, Davey had gotten the Rushings silly on French wine. Not taking a drink of his filled glass at all, he simply egged them on and bombarded the two with friendly questions, secretly hiding real journalism.

Delighted to see Alison's return, Davey stood and said, "Welcome back, love. We were just going to sit for lunch. I hope your appetite is with you. Chardonnay?"

He poured a glass and rushed over so to be briefly out of earshot of the older couple.

"It's urine," he whispered, "or damned near."

Walter and his wife soon followed and took seats at the table in front of luxurious place settings.

"We offered a place to stay for the evening to Davey," he said, "but he wanted to submit the itinerary to you, it seems. Perhaps you can use our house as a camp to set up your studies?"

The Haitian family, now all together, brought out water, baskets of rolls, butter, and more wine.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

As she took pictures of the house, Alison felt her spirits rise. Concentrating on her work, she experimented with a variety of angles and filters before deciding on the exact picture. The one with the filtered light and wide angle might turn out best, she judged. The mansion would appear dreamy in that picture, a central jewel framed by ancient trees. She also had high hopes for another picture. Using the maximum amount of light she could get, Alison had attempted to let the shadows work for her. Rather than blending in, the four storey house would pose a contrast to the wilderness of vines and trees surrounding it.

When the Haitian lady proved willing to pose for a few pictures, the photographer thought she had landed in heaven. Light was a challenge for these portraits, the woman�s dark skin made it even more important to balance the amount of light coming from the front and behind. Alison forgot how the woman's intense stare had made her feel, instead she poured all her skill and energy in the attempt to capture some of that mystery on film.

With professionalism taking over, Alison privately considered the technical problems of photographing a penangal in the dark of night. She was not blind to the horror of the woman's story but she was at work and her head was filled with tables of light and calculations. It would be hard, but not impossible, she concluded.

The offer to help her take the equipment inside was gladly accepted and she expressed a heartfelt thanks for the woman's assistance. When the equipment was stored, Alison followed her to the garden, giving a friendly wave to Davey and his victims.

�Chardonnay sounds lovely. I am parched. Totally silly of me, I forget everything around me when I work.� Laughing, Alison walked over to meet with them, pausing when Davey rushed over. His comment evoked another peel of laughter but she accepted the glass all the same. �And that is what you pour for me?� She whispered back teasingly. �Thank you so much.�

She winked at Davey and walked past him towards the Rushings. �You have?� She exclaimed. �But that is very generous of you both.� Her smile beamed from Walter to his wife and back. �We�d be delighted to accept�if it isn�t too much trouble? It would save us so much time if we don�t have to find a camping spot and set up the tents. This really is most kind of you.� If Walter had offered her a year's salary, Alison could not have been more pleased.


Conversation was light and mainly facilitated by Davey who asked very casual, but crafty questions of the Rushings. They were served chili crab with papaya and mango chutne. Although chili crab was a standard dish in Singapore, it only made sense that the Haitians would adopt such a meal. Reminiscent more of cajun America than Cantonose cuisine the blends of fruit and spice create a melody of flavors.

The conversation skirted the question of the local devil and instead dealt with the locals. Many of the men stopped farming and ranching, in favor of keep guard of their families. The word was over half a dozen children had gone missing in the past three weeks, but Walter didn't believe it. The proper British man thought the locals were just trying to stir up troubles agaist the govenorship.

By the end of lunch it was already late in the afternoon and rum cocktails were served. Moving into the garden once more the Rushings were perfectly comfortable and able to receive almost any kind of conversation.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Alison contributed to the conversation with the right sounds at the right moment. An occasional �oh no, did they really?� conveyed sympathy and she exchanged glances with Davey frequently. What would he think now? She wondered. Did Davey still think this was just a plot hatched by Haitian voodoo priests?

Complimenting the Rushings on their lovely garden, Alison walked outside with them, elegantly sinking into one of the chairs. The hottest part of the day had passed, cocktails were served, these were times when she felt at home. Laughing at one of Walter�s comments regarding the locals, she watched him over the rim of her glass. �It is true, these people would do anything to �free� themselves of what they see as another occupation. In Singapore, we have heard of the troubles as well. It is the talk at the Raffles these days.� She sipped her rum cocktail and sank deeper into the comfort of her chair. �The older people say the government should be more strict, but what can you do?� With a smile to Mr and Mrs Rushing, Alison told them indirectly she understood their troubles.

It was hard for them, she supposed. Having come all the way from Haiti, only to run into these problems here, the Rushings surely had met with little luck. �It is very unusual though, that the locals give such an elaborate reason for not working.� She pondered. �I still would like to speak with them. If this is their scheme, they might let something slip against a mere woman. Pray tell, Sir, does any of these families have their home nearby?�

It was tempting to try and pay a visit before dark, although the timing would be tight. If she wanted to try and capture a possible penangal on film tonight, she�d need to rest beforehand.


Walter pulled heavily from a pipe enjoying the aroma and took a moment to view his garden, of which he was clearly very proud. Davey smirked subliminally at Alison, signaling that her question approached the situation exactly right.

"Ah, yes, well there is a whole gaggle of them down the road about two kilometers."

"Walter!" Mrs. Rushing objected to his use of words.

"What? They honk enough like geese, don't they? Goodness, it's not like I called the bloomin' heathens, even if that's what they are."

The rum was making Walter tipsy and he was losing control of his composure.

"You've plenty of time to go see them, dearheat," he said, "and you could return before dark."

Davey shrugged, "May be a good plan. I'd be willing to go on a bit of a joy ride."

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not join you," Mr. Rushing said somewhat distantly, "I've seen enough of them as of late."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�But Davey, the weather�s perfect for a late dinner stroll�, Alison protested against his notion of using the car. �It�s only a thirty minutes walk at most.�

Agreeing with Walter�s suggestion to stay at home, she nodded a smile in his direction. �I am so ashamed that you are having these problems with the locals. What mustn�t you think of Singapore? Really, Sir, it was much better before the occupation. Of course, there were problems but nothing like this.�

She finished her drink with polite slowness, extending their stay before undertaking the intended walk. �What a lovely evening, isn�t it?� She remarked idly, changing the topic to small talk until Davey too had finished his drink.

�We should take the camera, don�t you think, Davey?� Alison rose from her seat and caught Davey�s gaze with a smile. She hoped he would enjoy the walk. They had a lot to discuss and it was unlikely a better opportunity would present itself in the near future.


"So that's how you keep in shape," grinned Davey.

At the suggestion, he pounded the remainder of his rum and stood to gather his things. Realizing that Alison was nursing her drink, he politely leaned against the back of his chair with both hands and continued the conversation until she was done.

"Just because the locals are restless, doesn't mean they will stay that way. Then again, I've not heard what the Empire plans to do with her latest acquisition. We could have another Ghandi here in no time."

Walter nodded, "True. I'd hate to see a revolt of any kind."

Once Alison was finished, Davey patted her upper arm as a signal that he was ready.

"A walk sounds lovely and you've better take the camera. Thanks again, Mr. Rushing. We will return by nightfall. And thank you, Mrs. Rushing."

As soon as they were outside, Davey sighed, "Very strange people ... did you find out anything from the Haitian woman?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Following Davey's cue, Alison rose as well and made her polite escape from the odd couple. "I am sure they mean well." She commented distractedly, checking how many more pictures the camera's current film would allow. It would have to do, she decided as she adjusted the strap over her shoulder. A chuckle followed the sidelong glance she'd thrown him at his sigh. "You handled them expertly. I think they'd tell you their bedroom secrets if you asked." She teased.

"You were right about the servants." Although the Rushings provided material for endless jokes, Alison was glad to steer the conversation away from them. After all, they had done everything in their power to welcome Davey and Alison and poking fun of their kind hosts almost seemed indecent to the young woman.

"She didn't even try to deny it when I confronted her." What triumph the young photographer felt over her little victory was quickly subdued when she remembered the mother's face. We must protect our daughter. Her own expression became haunted as she recalled the woman's stoic conviction.

"But they aren't after the Rushings." Alison hastily continued to tell Davey of her conversation with the haitian woman. "I believe her, Davey", she concluded solemnly. "Same as the locals, the Haitians believe there is a penangal. I don't know if she is right, but i intend to find out." Repeated intake of rum, chardonnay and more rum added a sturdy bravoure to Alison's statement. "When we come back tonight, i won't sleep but keep watch with my camera instead. If the penangal doesn't show, we'll try again tomorrow night." Realizing she could at least have discussed this with Davey, who was essentially her employer, Alison blushed. "I mean, I know how much you like a good story..You want this too, don't you?"


"Oh but I did ask," grinned Davey, "and that Mrs. Rushing is an absolute tiger in the sack."

After he howled in laughter over his own joke, he simmered down to listen to her report. Considering the story carefully, he walked quietly along the road they had met Rushing on in the first place. The fields were bleeding back into the jungle and the road became no more than two paths side by side holding enough width for only a vehicle and nothing else. A recent rain filled several areas with water and turned most of the road into a slick and muddy cake.

"I discovered why the Rushings left Haiti to begin with. It seems our friend was involved in a scandal with a French business owner.. Rushing didn't elaborate, but he said they fell upon a disagreement over money and then took advantage of the Crown's expansion in the Far East. He cashed in three sugar plantations in South America and has essentially retired here.

"I think there is more to the story. Firstly, a family of Haitian servants is odd, isn't it? Of all the islands they are the ones most vocal against slavery... I'm not saying they're slaves, but... eh... it's just a little old fashioned, I guess. Secondly, why Singapore? My guess is, he doesn't want to be found.

"I'm not sure our friends are entirely on the up and up, that's why I suspect the Haitians have ill will toward them."

He shrugged.

"Maybe not, I've been known to find a story where there is none."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Slipping and sliding over the muddied path, Alison trudged by Davey's side, waving her arms when the treacherous road gave way beneath her feet. All too soon the mud had stained her boots well past the calves and splattered on her once light colored pants. If she noticed, she made no mention of her appearance, but instead listened to Davey's story with breathless attention. His joke on Mrs Rushing's expense even drew a faint smile as Alison awaited his reportings.

"So that's why!" She exclaimed. "I thought it didn't make sense for them to leave Haiti." Her pace quickened even as her voice lowered. "The Haitians did not mention anything about the Rushings. Only about their concern for their daughter. I wonder what made them move from their home country? I mean, it's the center of their Faith, isn't it?"

The blonde woman laughed and exuberantly threw her arms around Davey's neck, wrapping him in an frivolous with a camera caught inbetween. "I can't believe they let you in on all that! You truly are something else, Davey Humboldt!" Without any trace of shyness, she released him and grinned. "Now we are really getting somewhere. It explains where he got the money for the house..." A thought struck her and she stopped, her gaze tracking Davey's. "...It's just -if what you say is true -...I mean... Wouldn't it be a bit..hazardous.. for them to have visitors?"


Davey received the hug with his own embrace around her waist. When released he kept an arm around her shoulder and squeezed one more time.

"What about you? You got a confession out of the Haitians. I'd say you are the pants in this operation."

Continuing the walk he thought about her question with a shrug, "I suppose they wouldn't consider us much of a threat. Our interest is not in their background, but in the local mythology. . ."

Davey was interrupted by a sudden rustling in the jungle around them. Freezing in his tracks, he gripped Alison by the wrist with the composure of a bodyguard. Putting her behind him with a quick and fluid gesture, he lowered his head and looked off the path. Now far from the Rushing's field, they were deep under the canopy. With only foliage and underbrush as far as the eye could see, the dimming light allowed no opportunity to see the source of the disturbance.

Then a Chinese woman pushed through, her appearance and clothing was completely eclipsed by the fact she held the bloody mass of what was once a toddler. Wailing tears spread over a tortured and horrified face. She stumbled to her knees and lay the child beneath her, revealing the immense residue of the child's wounds on her meager clothes.

Davey dropped to his knees to inspect the child. A gnawed neck and split chest revealed far more of the human anatomy then he could take. For a moment he held back vomit and then turned to the child again. Offering a chilled hand to the woman, she ignored it, sitting in a pile of weeps and wails.

The child had only just died.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

The photographer�s gaze snapped towards the unexpected sounds but before she could think of a proper reaction, Davey had reacted - faster than Alison had expected him capable off. With his body shielding hers, Alison felt it safe to peek around him towards the foliage.

Her eyes fell upon the woman stumbling onto the path and the bundle she was holding � and all time stopped.

What are a few vaches? Alison thought incongruously, remembering the Haitian mother. �What of those who don�t have your knowledge?� she had asked the voodoo lady. The woman�s reply had shocked her. How could she say that she � Alison- had not seen horror? Had she not seen what the Japanese could do? Had she not seen the cows in the field?

A choke broke off her exclamation of denial, words wouldn�t come. The image of mother and child held her frozen, captured her gaze until the tears had blurred its image beyond recognition. Her knees buckled and Alison knelt beside the woman, whispering a desperate stream of inadequate soothing phrases in Chinese. A gentle hand blindly reached for the mother�s shoulder.

�This stops here, Davey.� She whispered, her tear streaked face close to the other woman�s. �No more talk. This stops now.�


Speaking in Chinese was a great comfort for the woman, she took Alison with both hands around the neck, still dripping in blood, embracing her in-between weeping while keeping the child in her lap. The photographer's once clean clothing was now permanently stained from the torso to the thighs.

Glossy with the trauma, Davey's eyes stared, unblinking at his associate. Not only was this unexpected, but there wasn't a thing that could be done to resolve it.

In Chinese the woman with broken thoughts explained to Alison, ". . . the beast came from the wild . . . I saved my own life but it was too late for him . . . it was snared by the farm. . . I snared it and ran . . . are you a doctor? Are you a doctor?? Help him, please! He is my only child!"

Davey stood up and looked into the jungle ahead of them. Pulling out a pistol that must have been hidden under his untucked shirt.

". . .don't move . . ." he said severely and crept forward with alert eyes.

A sound unheard by Alison cocked Davey's head.

"We have to go. Now. Can you get her up?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Heedless of her clothes, Alison held the woman close. How to tell the child was beyond help? She was a photographer, not a doctor, but from what her brief view of the child had told her, it was too late. Much too late. So much blood� Only a child. What are we going to do?

�Not a doctor. I am sorry..� Every language was inadequate to express just how sorry he was. It had to remain at the simple statement in Chinese. �We must go now.� Alison scrambled to her knees, emphasizing the urgency with a tug on the other woman�s arm.

Snared? What does she mean? Questions. Compassion. A tiny bit of curiosity... And a burst of Fear when she noticed the tension in Davey. �What is it?� An edge of hysteria crept into the whisper. The young professional had obeyed to Davey�s urgent warning without thinking, but now her mind worked again the girl�s eyes had widened and her breathing had quickened. But even now she was helping the Chinese woman to her feet, trying not to think of the child in her arms.



A moment passed. Perhaps it was fleeting, but to those on that muddy path it lasted for an eternity. The jungle stood still. No bird passed over. No songs cawed in the distance. No rustling in the leaves. No insects buzzed. The world around them wound to a stop.

Then, time crashed into a gallop.

Deep in the forest, ground cover pounded downward one after another. The speed of the impact was impossible to measure. A large beast burrowed through as a predator's charge, but the only evidence it was there was the parting jungle around it.


Davey forced the woman to stand and although she carried her child, she was very aware of what was happening. Fear washing into her already paled face pumped her body into a sprint, clutching the child as if it were an extension of her body. Waiting only a fraction of a second for the others to pass, Davey wheeled around running backwards as he opened fire into the jungle.

Tropical birds scattered from the sound of firearm, but the progress of the predator did not slow.

Running uselessly through the fresh mud, slipping as they went, there was no doubt the beast would overcome them. The last few branches before the path parted and nothing but a stale wind pushed through knocking them all flat onto their stomachs. It smelled briefly like lilacs and then it was gone leaving the prey alone, unharmed, panting and frightened in the mud.

In the next moment, the Chinese mother realized her child was no longer breathing and her wails came without control.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Frozen in stunned disbelief, Alison wasn�t as fast as she should have been. How am I supposed to make pictures of �this-? was her first, crazy thought at the void sweeping through the forest. The camera half-raised in her hands moved no further. A split second later, the camera fell from her limp fingers, swaying heavily on the cord around her neck. Davey pulled the Chinese woman to her feet, the look of terror on their faces mirrored her own.

Somehow she had whirled around, found herself running down the path as fast as her legs could carry her, the chinese only a few strides in front, Davey right behind her. Wincing at the first shots, Alison hazarded a glance over her shoulder. She slipped on the treacherous mud and stumbled. The near fall brought a new spasm of fear pumping strength to her legs. She did not try to look back again.

When the wind hit them, it happened so fast, she was too terrified to even scream. Falling down in the mud, Alison covered her head with her hands, convinced this was the end.

She did not realize they were unharmed until the other woman started wailing. Her body slumped with relief, Alison couldn�t bring herself to go to the woman just yet. �That.. was.. no.. penangal..� was all she managed.


It had been three days and it took nearly that amount of time to recover the sanity of the woman in the jungle who'd lost her child. The Rushings welcomed the woman into their home, Davey did a thorough job of making her feel safe and although she was grieving she graciously allowed Davey to interview her with Alison's help and even permitted photographs.

The following two nights were uneventful and gratefully so. Mr. Rushing spent many hours patrolling the grounds with his rifle and often Davey would join him. They reported no more mutilations or sightings of the strange event.

Mr. Rushing believed they must have been attacked by a cougar or some other wild beast, but Davey told Alison in secret he didn't believe it for a second. Hunters don't simply leave their prey. He wondered if there was indeed some merit to the penangal story. If not an actual supernatural creature, it was something never recorded in science before.

The group took it easy until the Fourth when they decided to drive the woman back to her village so she could bury her child. It was a solemn morning, pulsating with nervous energy. Both Walter and Davey had their weapons prepared and one of the Hatians, named only Jaque agreed to join, with his own hunting rifle.

The jeep was packed up by 8 am and Davey took Alison aside.

"Who knows what this village has seen," he said, "but if we are careful they can lead us into further knowledge of what that beast is. I will need your ears. Will you be able to translate?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

She�d been up early that morning, checking her camera and the films she had ordered from Singapore. Two had been rather expensive, but were told to work even with the filtered light she should expect under the jungle�s cover. If she got but one shot of the strange monster, they�d be worth it tenfold.

�I don�t think Walter buys his own story.� She told Davey when he took her aside. �He wouldn�t take an extra man just for a cougar. Don�t worry about the language, I can manage.� Clasping her hand over Davey�s wrist reassuringly, Alison glanced past him to the packed jeep. �Are we taking both cars, or just the jeep?�


Davey put on a cocky smile, splitting his unshaven face with excited eyes.

"What's more, there aren't any cougars in Singapore. If he'd said 'leopard' I would have believed him."

Looking back at the jeep he said, "We should take two cars."

Mr. Rushing stepped over with Jaque and as if to answer her unheard question he said, "Why don't you two follow us in the jeep. I will take my Ford with Jaque and the village woman. Keep close, the roads get rather full of themselves the farther north we go."

Davey offered Alison a questioning look and then shrugged. Loading one last bag into the jeep he took the helm and waited for her to come along.

The journey was only forty-minutes, but it was treacherous. The road gave way to two muddy paths barely cleared of the jungle. Every few hundred paces or so, Jaque jumped out and hacked away at some stray tropical limbs to let the vehicles by.

The village was over a deeply-covered hill from the road and as they all parked off the main path, it was difficult to see beyond two meters ahead. They were much farther along then when they encountered the beast a few days earlier.

Rushing pointed forward.

"Just through there, not more than a kilometer. Quite a nice walk, actually. Lots of wildlife."

Davey snorted, "Wildlife."

Jaque carried the young boy, wrapped in Mrs. Rushings finest linens. Although melancholy the village woman dutifully lead them into the jungle, knowing the landscape quite well. Alison and Davey were the last two in the line as they walked deep under the canopy.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

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