Korsnin was atop her bed in prone position, her elbows were supporting her torso as she read Lord Of The Flies. Morbid she thought. Then came upon the room her middle-aged cat, Millee. It was about 40 years old, in ratio to a human being's lifespan. But in the real sense, it was just a toddler, living its dreary life in the confines of the Sealbeg residence for 4 years.

It was purring as it strolled the marble flooring, satisfyingly rubbing its body upon any corner it came in close contact with. Korsnin immediately consumed by the profound cuteness of the cat, jumped out of bed and cuddled it in her slender arms.

"You little Millee, why are you so cute?" said Korsnin rather enthusiastically. She kept talking to the cat as if not conscious that it can't understand every bit of sound her mouth was uttering. It was just that, in Korsnin's conscious mind, Millee can understand her. Why wouldn't it? By the cat's curious stare, it did seem to absorb what Korsnin was saying.

Many times Millee would do what she was asked to. Korsnin's father observed that.

"Look if I clap my hands, Millee would wag its tail." Mr. Sealbeg clapped and the white and black striped cat wagged its tail. "I told you." Then again, he would clap his rugged hands and Millee would react, by an apparent movement of its short tail.

But sometimes the clapping and the wagging do not follow the cause and effect paradigm. Sometimes, Millee would wag its tail even before Mr. Sealbeg's clap. More noticably even, Millee on many occasions had wagged its tail without any human command. And a lot of times, Mr. Sealbeg had failed to rouse the cat's tail to waggle. On such occassions, he would always rationalize that the cat was just hungry or tired to be able to concentrate on the trick.

The little cat, Korsnin realized, had never really understood that a clap was a stern command of any sort. Yet eventually, due to constant use, Millee begun to recognize and equate the clap to her name "Millee", both when heard would only mean one thing -- food.

Baywhir Village:

Baywhir village was a village in great trepidation. They had feared something, something undeniably all-powerful and ominous. Skeptics said it was all rumors and fabrication, while many attested that they had seen the Hukra, the horrid shadow.

"We've seen it," said one commoner.
"Hahaha, you fools, you've really seen it?" snapped Mikhel, the skeptic one.
"We've seen it... the big shadow, we're on the fields and the sky went totally dark, even if it was daylight."
"Shadows?! How big was that shadow? How come it was not able to visit our side of the sky? Hahaha!"
"Don't believe us for all you want but we've seen it. You're saying that because you were not able to see it," another villager protested.
"Jackpot! That's it, we were not able to see it. If you were on our position you would also doubt these ludicrous stories."
"But if you were on our position all your doubts would be dispelled. We swear. You heard the cracking noise, didn't you?"
"That was the thunder," said Mikhel blankly.
"If it was a thunder, how come there's no rainfall afterwards? And it was different; it's not the sound of a thunder. That particular noise was a signal that the Hukra was coming."

There was indeed a sharp audible sound that day. The sound, for those who witnessed the manifestation of the shadow, was a peremptory signal, but for those who stayed in their homes or anywhere where the Hukra, as they had sarcastically said, failed to visit, it was just a mild thunder, a signal from the sky that held its tears.

Sealbeg Residence:

Korsnin walked towards their backyard, the area where she had been feeding the cat. She brought along with her a nearly consumed tuna, its tail clipped tightly in her fingers.

"Millee! Miilleee!" she yelled as she arrived near Millee's eating spot. She placed the tuna on the cat's food bowl and went clapping to call Millee's attention. Still Millee didn't show up. While waiting, she noticed a heap of ants swarming a small spot on the ground. Worried that they might bite her beloved pet, she drew water from a nearby barrel and poured it over them.

Millee them came out whirring from the backdoor.

Baywhir Village:

Krocknid heard the creaking of the floorboard. It was midday and his son had just arrived from school.

"Macro, Sinne came in to visit you a while ago," said Krocknid, his head was peeping on the door opening.
"Ok, what's cooking?" said Macro.
"Ask Lita."

They were on the dinner table. The fried fish, carefully laid on a silver platter, was still hot and crackling.

"Dad, we were asked to research about something, will you help me out, please... please, after dinner please? What we need is a comprehensive research," pleaded Macro with a hopeful grin on his face.

Krocknid stretched out his arms to reach the silver platter where the fish was laid but it fell short. "Could you please..." he said, nudging his son to hand it to him. "Thanks," he said as he served himself with helpings. "So what's the research about?"

"Let me recall... uhmm... uhh... The Great Flood?"

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