You have long been lost in the sharp branches of the trees that made a sieve out of your clothes. An unknown man in a black priest's uniform kneels in front of you, his breathing is ragged, his chest heaves non-stop as he gropes your cold neck with his warm fingers and smoothes your goosebump-covered skin with his palms, whispering. –"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here, I've come to help you. Don't be afraid," – John breath smells like baby candy, he looks too innocent and is more scared than you. The leaves rustle under his shoes, and the branches huddle around you without straightening.