The temperature of the voice

That year, a misfortune quietly into my house. First the mother is ill in hospital, the constitution is the father of the weak, because the anxiety much, then fell ill, both parents live into hospital.

The sun going down in the west, but fear from my heart rise, that year I just 13 years old. In the night of the village, HeiQuQu distant like a pair of paper-cut ghostly almost in the glass of the window, the entire house, only my sister and I. The mountain of wolves, 1 connect a cruel and sound ai hao will often my sister and I was awakened from the dream.

We lived in a mountain village school, Shouting distance of not necessarily what people hear. Suddenly, I remembered the whistling-the mothers with whistle of sports class. Summon up the chest, I tried to let whole