The sky rumbled, like the growl of a predator. Light flashed, leaving photographs etched for a few seconds in the eyes of those who were awake. Sometimes it caused pain in the optic nerves, but the rain washed it away. The rain washed everyone clean.

Moss stood out in the middle of the storm, dripping wet. His face was raised to the sky and eyes closed against the visual onslaught. Water washed over the black and white fur, soaking through to the stag's skin. It was cold, though he was not. Because of this, the stag steamed, tendrils rising off of his body.

With a chuckle, the beast broke from his trance. His body again became insubstantial, as was the way of true residents of this place, and he was no longer soaking wet. Rain fell through his body and onto the ground below. The stag sent a silent prayer to the Gods, thanking them for giving the residents of their playground such a gift.






Just something short. It's raining where I am so I decided to doodle a writing.