"Ugo....." 
A voice, small and sing song like, called out.
The voice reverberated and echoed in the coldness of dark.
No answer.
"Ugo, my beautiful one."
The sing song voice called out again, this time slightly shaky.
No answer.
"Ugochukwuyerem."
The voice slightly more shaky, with a pause in each syllable of the word.
The wind answered, with a repeat of the word that had been called out. With the answer came the sound of movement.
The sound of the wind, pulling with it everything that stood in it's way.
The sound of rustling leaves, and tree branches swaying to the subtle yet strong music of the wind.
And then came the rain.
Few drops.
And then more rain, with ferocity and persistence, beating strongly on the helpless leaves, trees and the Earth; like a drummer's steady hand on the surface of a conga.
"U..g..o."
Each syllable of the word, came slowly and with depth from a voice quivering like a leaf in the hands of the wind. The word died a sudden death, as the sound of rain, wind and thunder drowned it out.