text: (window.webpackJsonp=window.webpackJsonp||[]).push([[3],{243:function(e,n,t){"use strict";t.r(n),t.d(n,"query",(function(){return h}));var a=t(0),d=t.n(a),r=t(242);n.default=function(e){var n=e.data.banner;return d.a.createElement(d.a.Fragment,null,d.a.createElement(r.g,{image:n.childImageSharp.fluid,height:"full"}),d.a.createElement(r.d,null),d.a.createElement(r.a,null,d.a.createElement(r.e,null,"Chapter One"),d.a.createElement("h1",null,"The Storm"),d.a.createElement(r.c,{text:!0},d.a.createElement(r.f,{indent:!0},"Isac knew his brother still lived. He just knew it. His hands shook as he drove down the desert road. He knew it, and he had told them— and yet they’d insisted on holding a funeral. A funeral with no body to bury. Isac’s shoulders shook in condemnation and fury. How could they give up like that? The setting sun painted the landscape and his window in a deep red hue. Isac cursed and tried accessing the GPS on his phone, though the fog of anger made it hard to focus."))))};var h="339233801"}}]);
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