He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. An old woman took her in. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. “Don’t forget to take off your shoes. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. org Section 4.
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