The sharp and frenzied sound, like the manifestation of desire itself, was akin to the cold wind creeping into one's collar in winter.
Tom and Mike abruptly halted their conversation.
Their bodies stiffened, pupils shaking as they turned, pressing their heads deeper into the grass mound, and cast tense glances into the distant darkness.
The midnight forest resembled a giant beast, crouching, breathing heavily and slowly, as the dense air drawn into the lungs was mixed with the cold, damp scent of earth and trees.
Night owls hooted and unknown insects chirped, still echoing in the depths of the night. Ordinarily, these sounds would be no different from usual, yet in this moment, they became exceptionally clear and sensitive to their ears.
The recently sown wheat had already sprouted, gently swaying with the evening wind.
Under normal circumstances, Tom might have remarked to Uncle Mike beside him about the good growth of today's crops and the hope for a bountiful harvest.
