The camera paid particular attention to downed saplings and the resulting snow shield.“Alice, that was quite ingenious. What made you think of it?�... Sheila asked.“Not my idea. It was his,” Alice nodded at me.“Oh,” Sheila said as she changed to a view of our makeshift tent and the heaps of sleeping rattlesnakes slumbering against the back wall of the cavern.“All things considered, Hunter One did an excellent job surviving the storm,” Sheila said as the last images of our mineshaft survival camp. ' I say.Your will becomes mine,For the rest of the day.The holiest of the Holies,Sacred and profane.Your backside weeping red,With a crack of the cane.'Bow to me, seek your forgiveness.'Leave aside your little boy grimace.Take your hands,Put them where I say.Any deviation, I'll make you pay.Your lips are permitted to service me well.From the tip of my nose,To the depths of my hell.Lava erupting, heating my thighs,Your hand in between well disguised.Slipping and sliding,Opening my flower.Lips on. More

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