Sanctuary:

This is the third installment:

Laying on her back, looking around with her eyes, Claire saw no tall buildings, no trees, no birds, no cars, no people.  People, where were all the people? Laying before Claire - a young woman, pretty, honor student on the fast track to a top notch university, unmarried and absolutely terrified - was a wasteland.  The four-story concrete block church that had stood above her bunker was now nothing more than rubble. Old crumbling rubble. In places the blocks were three to four feet high, but mostly, only one block or less.  From her vantage point, laying there on the ground in the dark, all she could see were mounds of broken concrete and a few steel beams.  In every direction her eyes could take her, Claire saw blackness.  Black sky that met black horizon.  All the structures had been leveled. By what, she wondered? There was no visible sign of fire or bomb, but she didn't have much to go on at this vantage point.

Cautiously, Claire raised herself to her elbows, then to a sitting position, and finally, slowly, stood upright.   Being outside, fully exposed to the elements, her senses were reeling, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it. She actually jumped at the sound, thinking it was coming from the distance.  The breeze began to blow gently and again a fine mist began to fall from the heavens. Oh how wonderful a bath would be!  The coolness of the drops on her skin sent a shiver up her spine momentarily distracting her from the  gloomy environment.  After looking around at her surroundings briefly, the next thing that caught her eye was a faint light on the distant horizon. Is that the sun or fire, she wondered, staring at the light until her eyes began to ache from the light.   Raising her arms out to her sides, Claire turned around slowly, seeing and hearing and feeling and smelling her new world for the first time, all the while being showered by the mist.

From the standing position, Claire once again surveyed her surroundings.  Where were all the buildings, street signs, highways, roads, trees, plants, or any sign of life ?  All were leveled.  All.   She saw no intact buildings, only the horizon, in every direction.  What did this, she wondered again and again?  There was no sign of fire or bomb, hurricane or tornado - or was there?  For as far as she could see the destruction appeared to have happened a long, long time ago. How long had she been in the bunker? No fresh signs of destruction, no smell of smoke or even of decay.  It was if she had gone into the bunker in Florida and exited onto a different continent, a dry and desolate desert.

Claire's next thought, which had been at the back of her mind for a long while was of survival.   "I'm alive. There must be others. If there are, where are they?  God, you wouldn't save me, just to live and die alone, would you?" Doubt began to creep in, then fear in the realization that she might just be all alone in the world.  Alone in the bunker, she at least had felt relatively safe in the small space, safe and secure inside the fortified walls. There, she had not thought about the future, of being alone, about what would happen in the event she were to leave. Now, outside, in the vast emptiness of what used to be her home, Claire looked back down into the hole, and thought, "Maybe I should go back down.  I was safe there.  I could leave the door cracked a bit to hear..no...no...I'm here... outside and alive.  Besides, I have only enough food and water for a few more days.  Oh God, what now?" 

Remembering it was God who told her it was time to go, Claire built an alter of remembrance out of the pile of concrete blocks, then knelt to pray. "Dear God. Help me.  I know it was you who told me to go.  I did.  I'm out.  Now what do I do?  Where do I go?  Was it truly you who told me to go or am I going crazy from being locked up for so long?  Lord help me. I must be here for a reason.  Please God, show me your reason for my being. In Jesus name, Amen."   Claire continued kneeling at the alter for a long while, listening, waiting, listening, waiting, slowing her breathing so her heart rate would lower to normal, inhale 2, 3, 4, exhale 2, 3, 4, inhale 3, 3, 4, exhale, 2, 3, 4.   Finally, a calming peace flowed over Claire as she let out a deep long exhale.  The rain had stopped and a cool breeze began to blow.  Claire stood up, put on her  back pain and began to walk. 

Man In The Mirror

This is the third installment:

“I bought you this teddy bear today,” Mrs. Gallagher said as she pulled a small brown bear out of one of the bags. “This shirt will look so nice on you, it’s the same color as your eyes.” Mrs. Gallagher held up the shirt then crumpled it up against her chest and began to sob. She rocked back and forth crying and mumbling to herself.

Celeste was in shock.  She had no idea how to react. Had her mother gone insane? Should she go in and talk to her mother? Should she call her father? Instead, she turned and ran down the stairs, grabbed a soda and a handful of what little food there was from the fridge and ran back up the stairs and locked herself in her room.  She anticipated a fight and did not want to be a part of it. The shock of the new haircut would have to wait for another time.  The rest of the day and well into the night was spent texting Tawny and trying to do the homework she managed to get from her friends.  Much to Celeste’s relief, the anticipated fight did not happen. She was also relieved and at the same time saddened because no one knocked on her door.  She was alone, very alone.

During the second class after lunch the following day, Celeste got a text. “Ur ‘rents R here.”  Celeste was puzzled. “Why?” she texted back to the girl who worked in the office. The bell rang before she got a chance to find out.

Celeste got the answer as soon as she got home and walked in the front door.

“In my office now, Celestial,” said her father in a booming, commanding voice.

Celeste dropped her backpack on the bottom stair and slowly made her way to the office door where she stopped dead in her tracks.  Her father sat behind his enormous, custom-made mahogany desk in his black leather chair with his arms folded over his chest. He wore the suit he used for important meetings, black Armani, white shirt, red tie. Standing next to him, with red eyes and smudged mascara, was Celeste’s mother in a designer navy blue suit, heavy gold necklace, and diamond earrings.  Her toe was tapping and a Kleenex was in her right hand.  Both hands were clinched in a fist. Celeste thought her parents looked like they had just returned from a funeral.

George Gallagher took one look at his daughter with her newly spiked blond hair and let out a groan. “I was forced to leave a very important meeting today,” stated Claire’s father in an accusatory tone.  “Your principal called insisting that your mother and I meet with her immediately.”  He paused for affect.  “Do you know why we were called in?”

Celeste leaned against the doorframe and shook her head slightly. She wondered if her haircut was against school policy.

“Of course you do!” He bellowed.  “Skipping class! No daughter of mine skips class! You have 7 unexcused absences this school year, 7! She also said your teachers have been catching you zoning out in class, not paying attention, and you failed your History exam.” He paused and glared at her with his brows furrowed angrily.

Celeste wondered how she could fail a test she did not take.

“How could you?” Celeste’s mother chimed in. “Oh, Celeste, your hair,” she whined.

“Let me handle this, Janet,” he said in a demeaning manner. “I work hard to put you in a good school.  How dare you waste this opportunity?!  How dare you waste my money.  This is why you cannot have a car.  You are irresponsible.”

That was the last straw.  All he cared about was money.  He did not care why she left school, why she was unhappy.  He did not even want to know why.  Celeste put her right foot behind her, ready for a quick retreat.  “Well at least I’m not a shopaholic hoarder like Mom!”  she screamed at them and ran not waiting for the look on their faces at the revelation.

Celeste ran to her room and locked her door safely behind her.  She turned on the radio as the yelling commenced.  The buzzing of her cell phone distracted her.

“What happened?” texted Tawny.

“W/ what?”

“Parents.”

“Busted.”

“Skpg?”

“& flunking Hx test.”

“Bmr.”

Celeste hit dial. “Do you know what he said?” she stated as soon as Tawny answered.  The two girls talked about their parents and school.  Tawny then took over the conversation and talked about a boy she liked. All during this time Celeste could hear and feel doors slamming and feet running up and down the stairs.  Celeste broke in on Tawny’s monologue.  “I gotta go. Something’s up. Call me in the morning.”

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Sanctuary, next excerpt:

This is the second installment of "Sanctuary": 

Claire wanted to jump up and run up the ladder as quickly as should could. "No", she thought, "I must be careful."  She forced her hands away from her eyes as slowly as she could.  Slowly, she lifted her face up towards the heavens to feel for sunlight, but felt only raindrops.  Very faint light, so light she would not have noticed it before,  filtered through the clouds and touched her eyelids.  It startled her and hurt her head so she jerked her face towards the floor.  Remembering one very important item in a locker in the back of the room, Claire darted towards it, retrieving a pair of sunglasses.

Sunglasses on, Claire pulled out the rain poncho and draped it over the backpack before lifting the pack to her shoulders.  It was heavy enough as it was, raindrops would make it much heavier, not to mention ruin all the things inside.  "My God is so mighty," Claire sang softly as she gripped a rung with her right hand, "so strong and so true," as she gripped a rung with her left, "there's nothing my God cannot do." Closing her eyes, she took a slow deep breath and raised her chin up to feel and hear what was above her.  The rain had stopped. No light filtered through her glasses.  Was it night time?  Had she lost track of night and day in the deep bowels of her bunker where there was no day? She had no watch, no need to know the time.  After all, she had no appointments, no lunch date, no job to hurry to.  No one was expecting her.

"My God is so mighty," right foot up, "so strong and so true," left foot up. The bars were damp from the earlier rain so Claire wrapped her arms around the ladder and gripped the bars from behind.   Falling was not an option, she told herself. "There is nothing," right hand, left foot, "my God cannot do," left, right, "for me."  Slowly, up she went, counting the bars at each grasp of her hands as she listened to the pounding of her heart, which seemed to echo off the walls of the bunker.

Suddenly, Claire froze.  She was more than halfway up, but something startled her, aroused her senses.  Her skin prickled, her ears were alive with the sound.  Familiar sound and feeling, but oh so very distant.  Claire thought about how the deaf might feel when they heard sounds for the first time or how the blind felt the first time their sight was restored.  She was neither, but had seen and heard very little in her time underground.  While locked away from the outside world, alone in the dim light and then total darkness there had been no sounds from the outside.  No cries, no knocking on the door, only the vibrations of the shaking earth.  She had talked and sung to herself for a while, then grew tired of the sound of her voice.  This day was the first time she had spoken out loud in quite some time. Claire tried to imagine what the color of the sky looked like, the color of grass, the color of roses, and the sound of laughter of little children.

It came again, the sound, bringing her out of her thoughts. It was the sound of a fresh breeze, which gently coaxed her on.  A few more steps and the top of her head was at the surface.  Here, the breeze was a bit stronger, just enough to blow a single strand of hair across her face and tickle her ear.  "Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord, " she sang in a whisper, "Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord. And He will lift you up". Claire looked straight up and all around.  The sky was dark.  She could just barely make out the shapes of clouds. "Thank you God for lifting me up," she prayed as she took another step up, lifted her right arm out of the hole, and onto the ground. The damp, hard ground.  Claire's eyes and nose were now out of the bunker. Her home and prison beneath her feet.

Fear now began to creep over her.  She had been safe inside her bunker.  Alone, isolated, in the dark, but most importantly she had been safe.  Now that she had exposed herself to the outside world, was she safe? What was out here? Who was out here?  Was the air safe? Was the water safe? Would she die the second she stepped foot outside? Maybe going out was a bad idea. Maybe she should go back in.  "Wait a minute," Claire scolded herself, "who told me to go in the first place?  Had Peter been safe when he walked on water?  Yes, because Jesus told him to go.  He only began to sink when he doubted." For another moment, Claire questioned whether or not it was really God who told her to leave. Perhaps she was hallucinating, perhaps it wasn't God. Perhaps. Clair looked down the shaft into the bunker.  Perhaps she should have faith.

Dirt. Claire gathered a handful of damp earth and held it for a moment before refocusing her attention on the task at hand. One last step with her right foot, shift weight to exposed arm, step with left foot and thrust her body onto the earth above.

Laying motionless on her belly on the slightly damp earth, Claire shed tears of joy, tears of the realization that this was a new beginning. One of uncertainty, but definitely a new beginning.  Several minutes passed as she collected herself, caught her breath from the climb.  Claire took off the backpack, then slowly rolled onto her back. A feeling of doom began to spread over her entire body as she looked around her with her eyes, not daring to move.  This was not the world she had locked herself away from.  This was no longer the Florida she loved and called home. It was not the vacation capital of the world any longer.  But, what had she expected? After all that had happened...she know it would be different... but this?  This place was unrecognizable.

Sanctuary

Man In The Mirror, second excerpt

Man In The Mirror, next excerpt:

A red BMW convertible with the radio playing full blast screeched to a halt in front of Celeste who was sitting on the curb.  “Hey chickie, whatcha doin sitting on the road?”

“Waiting for you,” answered Celeste. “I feel like the beach today, Tawny.  How about it?”

“I’ve got a geometry test,” answered Tawny, a tanned bleach-blond girl with too much money thrown at her at a young age.

“So?”

“So, I’m not doing great in geometry,” Tawny said blowing bubbles in between words. She raced down the street, ignoring the street signs.  “If I fail this test my daddy will take away my car.”

“At least you have a car,” groaned Celeste.

“You’re in a foul mood today.  We will have to change your name to go with your sourpuss attitude,” she giggled with a twinkle in her eye.  “You will not be Miss Celestial Star today!” Tawny rolled through a stop sign barely missing a truck.  “Today you will be sullen Sally!” she said with a laugh.  “Come on, I’m kidding.”

“Not funny.  He’s back and they’re at it again.”

“What is it this time?”

“Who knows. My dad was out of town for work and apparently he has go again. Mom is tired of him being gone all the time. She wants to get a job, but he won’t let her.  It’s the same thing every time. I’m so sick of it.”

“Bummer.  Hey, my geo test is 3rd period.  Beach after?”

“Definitely!”  Celeste managed a smile.  “Really not into school today.”

Celeste climbed out of the BMW over the door, put her headphones in her ears and slowly made her way to class.  She zoned out during her first class, American Literature, which at one time was her favorite.  All she could think about was how often her parents had been arguing over the last six months and how she felt like an orphan, an unwanted, unloved orphan.  Her parents barely acknowledged her presence.  Her mom pretended to be happy and free, glad to have some time to herself when her father first started traveling.  Celeste, however, often heard her crying at night.

“Miss Gallagher!”

Celeste jumped in her seat.  It was second period and her teacher was handing out test papers.

“Take your headphones off and put them away this instant,” the pigeon-faced teacher said, shaking a bony finger in her face.

Celeste looked at the U.S. History test and groaned.  She had forgotten all about the test. Staring at the questions, the words became fuzzy as she tried to hold back tears.  Facts and dates were impossible to remember.  Names of important people and what they did in the past were unimportant to Celeste.  Especially on this day.  She thought about what Tawny said about failing her geometry test and wondered what her father would do if she failed a test.

Mustering up all the courage she had, Celeste began making herself gag.  First she coughed just a little.  The next cough she conjured up a dry heave.

“Are you alright Miss Gallagher?” asked the teacher.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Celeste answered feigning a pained smile, “just a little indigestion.” Several kids snickered as she began to cough again, this time with a little more gusto and another dry heave.

“I think you should go to the nurse,” suggested her teacher while writing out a pass. “Brent, please escort her.”

Halfway down the hallway Celeste stopped. “I’ll take it from here Brent.”  She then turned and made a bee-line for Tawny’s car.  After tossing her backpack onto the front floorboard, Celeste laid down on the back seat, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

The sounds of the ocean with its waves crashing and seagulls cawing brought Celeste drowsily out of her slumber.  The warm sun was invigorating.  “Are we where I think we are?” she asked no one in particular.

“Right where you want to be, chickie,” answered Tawny from the front hood of the car.  “Get up and get out here.  You have no idea how hard it was to sneak you off campus.”

“Don’t even want to know,” answered Celeste as she joined Tawny, “but thanks.”

“You okay?” Tawny gave Celeste a concerned look.

“Parents. They really bite.  Ever since my dad started traveling for work my mom has gone a little nuts.  She looks like the perfect housewife. Dresses all high fashion.  She says she goes to the country club to play tennis and hang out with her friends and she has this fake smile plastered on her face all the time.  Except at home.  At home she is moody.  When dad is home they fight. Or they ignore each other.”

“You think one of them is having an affair?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  I know she is not going where she says she is because I saw her best friend at the mall the other day and she asked about mom.  She said she had not seen her in a while.”

“That’s not good.”

“I found booze in the trash can the other day, too.”

“Yours?” Tawny nudge Celeste trying to lighten the mood.

“Uh, no.  I don’t know who it belonged to. My parents don’t drink, at least my dad doesn’t. Maybe that’s why...I don’t want to talk about them anymore.  Let’s go for a walk.”

The girls tossed their shoes into the car and ran towards the surf.  It was a typical sunny California day.  The water was cool and the sun was warm.  The beauty of the ocean momentarily washed all problems away.  Tawny splashed and chased the waves giggling like a little girl while Celeste watched and laughed, then fought back tears as she remembered the good times she used to have with her brother on the beach. Most weekends were spent in just this spot when they were in elementary school.  Even her parents were happy then.

Janet and George Gallagher had met on the beach, so Celeste was told by her mother.  Janet’s parents lived on a large farm with several other families.  They had a large organic garden, a vineyard, milked their own cows and goats, raised chickens and made their own clothes from natural fibers.  They had not been a religious group, simply believed in living off the land free from outside influences. Celeste remembered her father recently called them “hippies living in a commune” because all the children were taught by their parents at home instead of going to traditional schools. George came from a similar but less radical background.  His parents owned a health food store at the beach catering to athletes, actors, and surfers. George was a surfer.  He had aspirations of going pro ever since he was old enough to stand on a long board. Janet met George on a family outing when she was 16 and he was 18. She had been admiring George as he surfed and when he crashed she helped him out of the water and bandaged his wounds.  It was love at first sight.

“I’m in serious need of a change.” Celeste panted after running to catch up to Tawny. She wondered what happened to the love her parents claimed to have had for each other.

“Such as?”

“A radical haircut for starts, maybe change the color.”

“Ooh, ooh, I know just the place chickie.  You know who Cara is right?  Did you see her cool new haircut? Well I know where she got it done.  Let’s go.  I’m sure I can get you in and I just happen to have my credit cards on me.”

“Is that you mom?” Tawny pointed to the SUV driving slowly in front of them just a few blocks from Celeste’s house.

“Looks like it. Slow down and follow her. I thought she told me she was going to the club to play tennis all afternoon and then have dinner with a friend.”

Tawny slowed her car staying just far enough behind to see but not be seen. She stopped her car behind a tree as the SUV pulled into the driveway. Mrs. Gallagher parked the car in the garage, opened the back and pulled out several large shopping bags.

“Looks like she’s been doing a little shopping,” whispered Celeste.

“A little, there’s like 6 bags.”

Celeste and Tawny watched as her mother closed the hatch and went inside leaving the garage door open.

“I’m getting out here. Call you later.”

Celeste quietly slipped into the her house tracing her mother’s footsteps.  She did not hear or see anything.  No arguing. No TV.  No crying.  Silently, she tiptoed up the back staircase all the while listening for sounds of either of her parents.  She hadn’t noticed if her father’s car was in the garage. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Celeste noticed the door to her brother’s room was slightly open.

“That’s weird,” she whispered to herself.  Celeste had not been in that room since her brother left over 3 years ago.  Looking around and hearing nothing, she silently tiptoed toward the room.  She pushed the door open just a little with her pinky finger.  The light was on.  She pushed it open a little further. Clasping her hands over her mouth she thought, “Holy cow!  What the hell is all this?” All around the room and crammed into the open closet were shopping bags.  Full shopping bags.  Celeste tried to count them.  She got to 57 and stopped, amazed and in disbelief.  Was this what her mother did every day? Shop?  Could this be what her parents were fighting about? Was this how her mother was handling her feelings? Celeste’s mother was sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged.  She was mumbling something.  Celeste strained to hear.

Man In The Mirror

Sanctuary

The following is an excerpt from "Sanctuary":

CH.  1

It is time.

Claire awoke with a shiver.

It is time.

Claire rubbed her eyes to erase the dream, then sleepily yawned and tried to go back to sleep.

It is time to go. Get up.

This time the voice was unmistakably clear. It was not a dream. The voice was calm, clear, and soothing.  Claire took a slow deep breath to calm her nerves then said aloud, to whom she wasn't sure, "Is it safe?"

Go.

Claire held her breath, listening intently for more. No more came.  It is time. Get up. Go. She repeated these instructions over and over in her head.  Could it really be? Was the voice who she thought it was or had she lost her mind?  Slowly, quietly, as if she made a sound she would miss the voice, Claire, young and alone, frightened but excited, lifted herself off her cot and gathered her belongings. She knew who the voice belonged to.

The room was dark, had been for nearly a week since her self-powered generator broke.   The batteries had given out just days after construction of the generator was completed. Claire chuckled to herself as she caressed the seat of the old bicycle frame, proud of her accomplishment.  Candles were not safe here, but there was a bag of them stowed away in a corner.   They were found along with a box of matches and put in her backpack.   Food and water had been rationed sparingly, and were running out fast.  Only a few days left.  Claire put all that she had in the backpack.   On the cot were her clothes.  She found what she needed and put them on, slowly one leg at a time,  feeling the unfamiliar, uncomfortable fabric against her skin.  Alone and in the dark, they had been unneeded and cumbersome, now they felt scratchy on her skin.  How long had it been since she had bathed, washed her clothes?  Weeks, months? Time had lost all meaning.  In the far corner of the rectangular room were two unused cots with their blankets neatly folded on top.  Claire rolled them up together and fastened them to her backpack.  New blankets for a new beginning, she thought.  Rain gear that had been stored in a locker were unpacked, then placed into the backpack.   The pack was beginning to get heavy. 

Claire scoured the small room with her eyes, long-adjusted to the dark, remembering the day she first arrived, not wanting to remember.  She pushed those horrifying thoughts out as she looked from box to chair, to shelf to ventilation duct, to waste disposal cabinet thinking of what else she should bring, what to leave behind.  She saw what she needed on a top shelf. Thrown there in anger, but not forgotten.  Delicately fingering the leather she prayed, "Please forgive my anger, God, I know it is you who have kept me safe and you who now tells me to go."  Claire pressed the Bible cover close to her heart and wept.  The pages had long been destroyed.  "Protect me Lord. I am afraid."

The quiet girl with the sad eyes and aching heart, who had dreamed of and dreaded this day, wiped her tears, turned, and stared hard at the stairs that led to the outside world.  What lay ahead she did not know, what was must be left in the deepest part of her memory. Not forgotten, just put in a safe place as to not haunt her future.

Ten steps forward and twenty-five, straight up.  Seems easy enough, but Claire thought she lacked the courage to take the first step. NOW.  The voice was urgent, demanding.  "Okay, God", she said, "I'm going". Thoughts ran through her mind. What would she find?  It must be okay, God said to go.  He wouldn't be so insistent if it were unsafe. Would he?  Would she be among friends? Who, what would she find? There, she made the first step. Left, right, left, right. Slowly, painfully, heart beating faster and faster. Claire closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then another, hand trembling, she found the valve.

The bunker door was 25 steps up a metal ladder, but the mechanism to open it was right in front of her.  "Please God, help me remember how to open the door."   The valve in her hand was a lock.  She didn't remember why the valve was to be turned first, she just knew it was. Hoped it was.  It felt rusty.  Would it break if she turned the wrong way?  Would it break if she turned the right way?  Deep breath, which way to turn it? Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, gripped the valve with her right hand and pushed down, to the right as hard as she could.  Click. The valve opened. "Whew!"  she let out a deep sigh of relief.

Next to the valve was a large steel wheel about 20 inches across. It sat higher up on the wall, its center about level with her forehead.  It, too, felt rusty at the joint where it connected to the bunker wall.  Claire gripped it with both hands, one on each side.  Which way?  Lefty loosey, right tight or to the right just like the first one?   First she gently nudged right.  Nothing.   Nudged left.  Nothing.  Claire stood and stared at the wheel, gripping so hard her hands began to hurt. Which way? Lefty loosey.  That has to be it.  She attempted to turn the wheel.  It didn't budge. "Oh God, help.  Am I tightening it instead?"  She took a deep breath and tried harder. To her amazement and much relief it moved.  An inch.   A drop of sweat dripped into her eye.  Not wanting to let go, she rubbed her eye with her shoulder.   Slowly, Claire slid her right hand over to her left while turning to the side of the wheel.  "Here goes nothing," she muttered then slid both hands as high up as she could so as to hang from the wheel. Suddenly she dropped all her weight and lifted her feet.   The wheel gave a creaky groan, turned, and Claire fell to the floor, hands still gripping the wheel.

It had turned!! Claire sprang up and tried the same technique again. The wheel turned again.  After one more attempt, Claire sat breathlessly on the floor.  Panting, she closed her eyes tightly to try to determine if the door had opened enough for her to escape.  Any light that came in could blind her, so she covered her eyes with her hands. A drop of sweat dripped onto her arm. Then another, and another. Claire stiffened and listened and felt. Raindrops? Those were not sweat drops because she felt one, two, three drops of water on her head.  Her senses were screaming for more.  She could hear faint sounds of dripping onto the metal bars and just a whisper of wind.

Sanctuary