[ His voice breaks in the all-too quiet field — it is a field, isn't it? Tall, menacing hedges rustling together, dried cobs of corn dangling heavily from the thorny branches. He's breathing hard now, leaving a trail of white huffs behind him as he stoops to pick up the shoe, like some horror movie version of prince Charming. Her voice (so far, much too far) acts like a whip on him, making him flinch and break into a desperate run, a second voice licking at his heels.
Thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
It's a low rumble of a voice, barely audible and still booming in his ears with such intensity that he can't keep himself from stumbling. Like the cock of a gun, the bark of rabid dogs and she's ahead of him, still alive, still screaming and if he can only get to her, if only they hadn't gotten separated- ]