Presently in the lowering silence came the scream of a hawk.

An uncommon sound, half croak, half cry, which only hill dwellers know,
but 'tis an eery noise in the wilderness. It came again, less near, and
a third time from a great distance. I thought it queer, for a hawk does
not scream twice in the same hour. I looked at Shalah, who stood by the
gate, every sinew in his body taut with expectation. He caught my eye.

"That hawk never flew on wings," he said.

Then an owl hooted, and from near at hand came the cough of a deer. The
thicket was alive with life, which mimicked the wild things of the
woods.

Then came a sound which drowned all others. From the inky sky descended
a jagged line of light, and in the same second the crash of the thunder
broke. Never have I seen such a storm. Down in the Tidewater we had
thunderstorms in plenty during the summer-time, but they growled and
passed and scarce ruffled the even blue of the sky. But here it looked
as if we had found the home of the lightnings, where all the
thunderbolts were forged. It blazed around us like a steady fire. By a
miracle the palisade was not struck, but I heard a rending and
splintering in the forest where tall trees had met their doom. The
noise deafened me, and confused my senses. Out of the loophole I could
see the glade that sloped down to the Gap, and it was as bright as if
it had been high noonday. The clumps of fern and grass stood out yellow
and staring against the inky background of the trees. I remember I
noted a rabbit run confusedly into the open, and then at a fresh flare
of lightning scamper back.