The rain, when it comes, is not a gentle drizzle. It's a deluge. The sky opens up and unleashes a torrent of water that turns the dusty streets of Treys Minor into a muddy, chaotic mess in a matter of minutes. The sound of it is a constant, deafening roar, a percussive assault on the roof of the inn that drowns out all other noise.
May is pressed against the window, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated delight. Her small hands are pressed against the cool glass, her breath fogging a small circle around her mouth. Her nose is practically pressed to it as she stares at the world outside. "Wow..." She whispers, her voice full of awe. "It's like the whole world is taking a bath."
I can't help but smile at her simple, childish joy. It's a small, bright spot in the gloom, a moment of innocence in a world that has so little of it.
