Rain pattered.

Gentle rain. Sweet rain.

The rain pattered, gently upon the leaves and the heavy boughs of the trees. They dripped in beautifully perfect droplets down to the forest floor, where they were sucked down and pulled deep into the loam. They fell, softly, to feed thirsty roots and to water the dry earth.
The doe named Plumeria stood silently in the rain. She stood under a proud pine, at the cap of a rounded hill, near to the watery depths of the Pond.
Gently, she blinked, and stray drops of rain slipped away from her eyelashes and rolled slowly down the contours of her butterfly mask. The violets wrapped around the antler-doe's tines were happy in the rain; lively, they swayed with the rhythms of the drops' patterings, and their colors were bright and fresh.

Gentle rain...

It had been raining when Taint said goodbye.

With the rain, a pearly mist had come, and joyfully it had wrapped the Forest in its curling wisps. Masked, the trees in the distance were only silhouettes of their proper selves.
Behind Plume was the sleeping figure of her brother. Dear Olive was oblivious to the rain; he slept a peaceful sleep, with no worries, no aches, no painful desires. He did not remember that he had once had a love, and all he knew was that there was a strange empty place in his heart.
Plume simply watched the world in the rain, everything soft and muffled, wet and moist and heavy. Her face behind her mask was calm, but now, her deep sorrow was openly visible in her eyes.
Painful reminders floated down with the rain, and they threatened to overwhelm the doe's heart. With it came the wishes, the hopes, the dreams...
Plume closed her eyes.
From the depths of her mind wandered the melody... The song of her beloved, the only worded song she knew, and the one she would never forget. Could never forget. It came, to wrap her up in its warm arms, to remind her of all she lived for.
She closed her eyes, and listened to it...

To my angel in blue
In a Plume of desire
Doth my heart ache for you
Doth thy pelt light the fire
Deep 'thin; of my being
I care for you so
But time has come wailing...
I must let thee go...

She opened her eyes, and a small, sad sigh escaped from her throat. She looked up into the gray sky, the rainy, murky sky, and blinked as the raindrops gently smattered upon her face.
Gentle rain, what would you do?
In thought, she pursed her lips for a moment.
And she had decided.
"Olive?"
The sleeping stag behind her stirred, orange pelt rippling with a sigh.
"Olive..."
He raised his head, his face puzzled as he looked at her. Upon Plume's face was a kind, sad smile as she looked back at him over her shoulder.

"It's time for me to go..."

As if formed from the mist, wings blossomed from her back, uncurling with magnificence and spreading to glow in the rain. Swan-white, they swirled and flowed, not bird-wings, not bat-wings, not formed from feathers, but another kind of wings, wings that simply were there, and beautiful.
"Plume-" began Olive, but then he understood. And with understanding came the tears, welling up in his green eyes.
Plume looked back at him as her wings floated up and down with an invisible breeze.
Two tears slipped down her cheeks; one of sorrow, one of hope.
A tear for all she would leave behind, and a tear for what she might find ahead.
They dripped down to the earth, so small, so insignificant, mingling with the rain.

"I'll come back, someday," she whispered, and with a gentle, dainty step, she was off of the hill, with her pearly wings spread out, so splendid. The mist and the rain took her with open arms, and soon she was gone, melted away into the mist's tendrils.

This Olive watched silently, for no voice nor cry could escape his mouth. He squeezed his eyes tightly, wishing this was all a dream, a nightmare that he could awake from, but he knew it was terribly real.
His heart ached, now with two gaping holes gouged out, but he opened his eyes and sat straight towards the horizon where Plume had disappeared.

Farewell, my sister.

Gently pattered the rain.

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