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The storming; a short story in the works

Updated on May 1, 2015

It was nearly the end of the storm season and there were signs all around the town pointing in the direction of such a break in the weather. I had seen them before. The signs.
She had said to me once "There is room for growth in the storm seasons."
I hadn't fully understood the meaning of what she had mentioned until I saw it for myself. There had been growth. I could see the hues of different lights gleaming off the newly budded trees and forest. The lawns even looked different. It was amazing to see the different lights and dew drops as they danced in the wind. I, myself, had been unchanged in the storming. There had been some reason or not for the transfiguration of storming. Maybe it was more than what she had said and more in line with what she had meant. Growth.
She always looked a way when she said things like that as if looking for an answer in herself.
I noticed because I would look to where she was looking but failed to see the same things. I imagine that there was some reason unbeknownst to me for the dialoguing. We both were born of the same area and knew of many of the same seasons. I could write of other familiarities but that would take time. Time something that was quickly running out for the travelers. Had I been a traveller wondering in some twilight haze or ritual transformation or had this been simply a jest of epic misunderstanding. Either way we both were in short need of shelter. One last storm was arriving over the hills to the East. I say East as if the direction mattered, it seemed to be all around us in the valley.
She had already departed my companions and I was standing alone in the weather. Alone and unafraid as blaze as ever. Not that I brag about my storm watching or fearless approaching but it does give some understanding to my appearance. Oh do I look the mess of it. Had there been other more distinguished men in my company there may not have been such a burden to share. My burden. My lonesome burden to share with those I could find or who would have my company. I knew that crystal landscapes and transformative magic would some how change the seasons once again and storms would become gentle breezes and life would become more manageable for the people of the valley. Save all but me. I would need to find some other place to chase storms and seek shelter. I would need more than thunder to spark interest in my soul. I needed the large storms to shelter in.
A man passed by me and offer directions to a shelter of sorts.
He said, "There is a barn down the way with plenty of wood to keep the wind and thunder at bay."


I thanked him for his offer of wooden shelter but added that I was in the middle of finding storms not running from them and asked if there was a high enough ridge to catch the entire beauty of the storm.
He replied that not many seek storms in these parts anymore, not since the raiders came.
Pray tell what were the raiders. I asked the man if he could explain his curious speech and understanding of the raiders.
He drew a silent breath and just looked downward. Obviously he could tell that this would be a long storm.
There was plenty of time to mix words with strangers and I am sure that there would be more along the journey. Hopefully not with the raiders but I was a man of many resources, natural resources and could manage any encounter as a new experience to develop. I had hoped that she hadn't set some force at work that would hinder my awakening but perhaps she had. One last curse to even the playing fields. I knew that a game was a foot and many would see me as a player in some game of chance. I had avoided such games in the past and knew that great magic required great courage. Had this all been bled before? Had magic and spellchaft set storms to lure me into a snare meant for more eager rabbits? We would see in the days to come if any other animals would befall such punishments.
I was stronger than most of the vision animals and their brethren were my guardians in another life. Perhaps the storm season coming to an end would be a blessing. I had feared that the early end was nothing but a trick or some spell to ward off evil. I imagine that thought me evil at one time. Always showing up where disaster had visited. She may well have done some behind the scene work to harness what power was left to her. I prayed less these days for recognition of her and more for understanding of her insight. She was without equal in her rite and I was not in her sights unless she had bid me into her company. I would still sit with her and gather knowledge but trust and love never again.
The storm was arriving. I had managed enough small talk with myself and the spirits that listened. Now it was time to shine in the darkness. Pray that there aren't those that would dim a light to quiet the watchers. I may yet need to call upon some ancestors to aid in resurrecting a spell of beauty. Not that beauty isn't found in nature just a gift to the storm for its passing.


Does the story have merit?

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