better than wet and in danger?

After a time, the rains finally begin to slow. The sky still weeps from time to time, but the showers are scattered and infrequent, their fall light and easy. The clouds even begin to part, flashes of blue woven throughout the gloom, a ray of sunshine piercing the murk. 

But it only serves to shine light upon the destruction left in the storm’s wake. 

The flood waters are still high and raging, the streams flowing far past their banks and drowning the surrounding meadows. The swamp has become one big, stagnant freshwater ocean, downed trees hiding in the muck and waiting to knock horses off their hooves. But the greatest change lies in the Sussoro Fields, where the earth has seemed to collapse in upon itself, leaving holes several tens of meters deep.

Sinkholes have ravaged the ground, hidden tunnels broken and fallen. The ground is unsteady and prone to mudslides, every step treacherous and uncertain. The cries of horses and other animals can be heard, half-buried beneath the mounds of dirt and mud. But rescue itself is also uncertain, when every step might prompt another section of ground to fall suddenly fall away.

With the storm passing and the sinkholes beginning, you can’t help but wonder: is the true disaster finally over, or has it only just begun?

The capitol has been set up as a storm shelter, tents erected outside of its walls to provide shelter from the rain, and its great hall opened to the public. The area is dry and fires provide warmth: tables also have been set up to provide food and refreshments from the capitol’s own kitchens. Horses and animals alike have sought shelter here: a family of squirrels chatter noisily nearby, birds wait to collect any fallen food from the tables, and you see a fox darting after a small hare in a corner. 

Still, it is warm and dry, and the drinks are flowing. You place yourself at one of the tables, listening to the stories and jokes around you, waiting for a turn to join in. Perhaps you’ll even find a familiar face here, or meet a new friend?

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When he finally enters the court, Raam looks like some strange swamp creature. The mud mixes with the black and brown paint of his coat until it is not clear where horseflesh ends and wet earth begins. His thick mane and tail hang heavy, matted and tangled with mud and debris. He favors his left foreleg but cannot remember exactly how he hurt himself... For some time he had released himself to instinct, and in that state of mind memories have the uncertain quality of looking through an oil slick. Whatever happened, the pain had not come until later, after the fear had worn off. Later, when the haze of shock took hold. 

In his many, many lifetimes, Raam had never experienced a storm like this.

This is not the appearance he had wanted to make. He had spent many months preparing for his official entrance to the court, learning about this world, planning the exact words he would say to appeal to the kings and gods of this land. Now he limps past the open gates, wide-eyed and bedraggled.

"Water," he calls weakly to a jeweled man who seems to be helping the many strangers huddled here. A bit of perspective suddenly strikes his loopy mind-- it rains for days on end and he asks for water?? He laughs then, the deep belly laugh of the exhausted and the insane (feeling a heavy mix of both) and considers a punchline, but in his deep thirst the words fall short. 

"Please." He has never sounded so much like a dying man and at the sound of his own voice he starts to laugh hysterically once again.