Is my child alive?

The sprinting wind whistles a theme of natural lullaby as it glides the sky in sheer beauty.

It was the same wind that had kissed the soul of pollen, the same wind that caressed the sky with its music drifting afar off. It was the same wind that was intimate with the green colored grasses and the brown carpet of sands.

Furthermore, it was the same wind that had in its voice Scott's whispers. Besides, it circled a certain cabin, far away from where it had originated from.

There she laid on the deeply unconscious, a certain woman who had been changed by time yet in a way untouched by it.

He walked by the stranger again, checking for her pulse and muttering to himself. He had been doing this routinely now and then, he had been checking this same woman's pulse and had almost lost hope of her living.

The woman was breathing on her own quite alright, but she appeared to be in a kind of deep sleep. He had wondered how her eyes looked, as mere looking at her face drove him into many fantasie