[ Lemme know if you want me to make the text larger for you, @[Arathea]! ^^ ]

Storms were fascinating, because they were so incredibly local. Like, right-over-your-head local. Mauja was drenched, soaked to the bone, white fur a rather unbecoming shade of darkened gray, and his mane was a ropy mess plastered his neck and face. With the sunset, the temperature would drop, and he was pretty sure he'd be pretty cold then. After all, he still had only his thin summer fur, and it had nothing to offer against his kind of weather. It was the kind of fur that said "go stand under a tree, you blasted idiot". But of course, he was a blasted idiot for a reason, and that was because he was too stupid to do exactly what he ought to—take cover.

No, instead he was high-tailing across the meadow, absolutely pelted with rain falling like a flood from the sky, knees raised high with each fleet-footed step of his trot. His ears were slick against his neck, gaze flung skyward every so often. Straight above him it was pitch black, but a little ways ahead, he saw stars shine from the dark navy canvas of the sky, so surely, if he was just faster than the storm.. or was it traveling the other way? Being straight under it, he couldn't tell, because one moment the wind pushed him forward and made his wet forelock flutter uncomfortably against his eyes, and then in the next it was punching him in the face as if wondering why he thought he could get away from it.

All he knew was that he was already sopping wet, and because of that, he could just as well keep going straight ahead. It couldn't get much worse, not really, unless one of the many bolts of lightning decided to strike him. Besides, he wasn't terribly annoyed, more like the way you're—fondly—irritated with an unruly sibling.

And it even was his lucky day. Either he was faster than the clouds, or they were going the other way, or dissipating as the air grew colder, but whatever the case, the rain lessened to a sheet of drizzle, until finally it was nothing but a heavy moisture in the air, making his breath pool in white clouds around his dark muzzle. Drenched, but oddly light-hearted despite his situation (or maybe because the more tangible nuisance of being incredibly wet made him not think about it), Mauja laughed to himself—surprised at how easily it came out of his throat, and too caught up in examining his puzzling state of mind to notice how close he'd danced to an old friend of his.

night-fate-stock -- dreamofsandman -- deirdre-T -- deviantart.com // i-mi.deviantart.com