By comparison, the valley was quiet, still, dark, unmoving. A heavy blanket of anticipation swallowed it whole. While the men it held thought themselves consummated, they didn't know the truth of it. Had they been listening they would have heard a fearsome howl rend the heavens as a fickle wind changed directions. Fate was bearing in a storm, all the way from the Pacific, to meet its match- still a simmering thing, a yearling newly-conceived in the ashen glow of a dead fire. Who but the heavens knew that the little tempest in a tent would grow to ravaging proportions? Heaven sent its emissary, a storm to push them off the mountain and into the world of men- together.
But it sent its storm far, far too soon.