The summer storm came prowling in with moody black eyes and a voice of roaring thunder. Lightning sparked like flashing teeth, its bite a fierce thing snapping above the brave, yet trembling, cliffs.
Florentine stood and watched the storm roll in pushing the angry waves ahead of it. Chaos reigned as the storm surge crashed and churned against the rugged cliffs, breakers splitting into hissing, bubbling foam.
Sea spray crawled up the cliff face, but when it could not reach the girl of meadows and flowers, it sent a howling wind to harry her. Oh and reach her it did, swirling about her slender torso, picking at her flowers. Petals stole away upon that wild, wild wind and Flora watched them spiral down, down to the hungry seas below.
Only when she saw the wall of unforgiving rain did the girl turn to run. What fun it was to be chased by dusk, but this storm, oh this would catch her in its wet, wet grasp. Dusk was an ever faster, ever more subtle and superior predator. But the storm was the one that made her heart run harder with adrenaline, that made her body tremble with fear and joy.
She ran and she ran and the storm rolled closer and closer. It was with a heavy breath, with a squeal of mingled glee and shock, that the girl realized the storm was upon her. Rain fell, thick and wet, from the roiling clouds. Thick, thick rains soaked all they touched and broad was their reach.
The flower girl reaches Sussuro Fields as the rains continue their tumble, she is the only one out here, the only creature foolish enough to race the storm, to let it catch her, even as her laughter is drowned by its angry snarl.
Florentine is gazelle-fast as she slips through the long, long grasses. There is no sound out here when the storm pauses for breath. There is no sound but the chorus of a million droplets falling around her. It was an orchestra of pitter-patters, of drip-drops. The grasses rippled and rolled like the sea she left behind her, but these grasses are not angry, they are graceful and joyous as the girl slips by.
The shelter of the trees calls to her, and she would have stayed out – just to dance, just to relish in the storm that rages as free and wild as her soul yearns to be – were it not for the shadow she sees lurking. There is a glint of an eye, like starlight in this deep, deep thunderous dark. The girl thinks of the Night King, but there is no jasmine or smoke here, just scents she cannot place, so strange, so unfamiliar.
Curious as ever, the twilight girl slips into the shelter of the trees where the roar of rain is hushed. Just the leaves rustle and thick, thick droplets of rain fall upon her sodden skin. Florentine tosses her dripping mane from her eyes and surveys this new curious boy. Her smile is broad, delighted. “Of course not,” the girl breathes, still breathless, still full of laughter, “Where would be the fun if I was quick enough?”
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
