And lo, the God Child did turn his gaze upward, his neck craning, turning, rotating – the sound of dry twigs snapping, leathery skin pulled taunt around an unnatural, boney fulcrum — one rotation, two, three. A wheezing, short breath. Then nothing. 

And lo, the God Child did turn his gaze upward, his neck craning, turning, rotating – the sound of dry twigs snapping, leathery skin pulled taunt around an unnatural, boney fulcrum — one rotation, two, three. A wheezing, short breath. Then nothing.