Rainfall
There was a leak in the thatch, releasing fat drops of rain down into her bedroom and directly onto her comforter. By the time she had woken up, Keaira was more than soaked through, her bed a deluge and the thatch all but crumbling to let in the thunderstorm raging outside. She scowled up at the broken ceiling, her hair plastered awkwardly to her face as even more water poured in; it was hopeless to even consider waking Drace to fix it.
She would have no sleep tonight.
Ignoring her cloak and the way her nightgown clung to her skin, she strode from the bedroom and through the dark of the house, picking her way outside until she was standing beneath the rain itself, the drops falling heavy on her hair and shoulders. Surprisingly, the air was warm, and despite the ferocity of the storm the water felt refreshing as it ran in rivulets down her body.
Her feet stepped forward without any thought to where she was going, the moon bright enough to carve a path through the storm. She could feel the grass and mud slip beneath her toes, bare feet sliding lightly and catching again before she could stumble. The rain fell in sheets before her, lightning flashing nearby so that the river reflected the light as she crested the hill. She stopped when she reached the water, the grasses stretching up around her before abruptly dropping away, leaving a clearing visible from the very crests of the surrounding hills.
The water rushed by, glittering beneath the moonlight and spiking as rain splashed down onto its surface. Keaira stared into the depths.
Rhoswen. For the longest time she had wanted to be the white-cloaked First. As a child, she had watched the elaborate ceremonies of the priestesses, wanting nothing more than to be walking in those processions with a candle in her hand and a thick velvet cloak over her shoulders. And then she had grown, and that dream had been ripped away from her, long gone.
The whiter the cloak, the easier to see the stains.
Keaira lifted her face to the heavens and let the rain kiss her skin.
~ by eeratka on February 20, 2007.
Posted in Celtic Winds, Fiction, Stories, Writing

Hey,
Rain holds great symbolism, and you have used it perfectly here. Keaira lets go of her dreams and just as the world around her is washed and made anew by the waters, so is she changed.
Loved your descriptions of rain, for they were brief and beautiful. ^^
And well, keep on with the great work,
- César
wow, this is wonderfully gothic. A little of the R A Salvatore in it, if you don’t mind me making the comparison.
ggw