On the road the wind became still stronger. And the thunder re-echoed here with thousands of reverberations from the neighbouring forest. Chyene looked only straight before her, into the distance, through the dense, water-laden atmosphere.
The way was strewn with heaps of twigs and branches that had been severed by the lightning, and even a few trees lay before her, torn up from their very roots, and charred.
“Would to God that the thunder would strike them even so!” she muttered.
She was consumed by an inner cry. Now she had found a definite form for all her curses. The thunder up yonder had torn it from her.
And she ran on, on....
But what is this here?
A few paces before her lie two persons. A man and a woman. With contorted visages. In writhing positions. Their faces black as earth, their eyes rolled back. Two corpses, struck by lightning.
There was a brilliant flash, followed by a deafening thunderclap.
She recognised her daughter.
More by her clothes than by her charred countenance; more by her entire figure than by the horribly staring whites of her eyes.