It rains today.
 
Storm clouds bubble up in the atmosphere. Puffing out, large and foreboding. Although the sky is incredibly monochrome, the ground is a verdant green and the large, old growth trees are flush with new leaves.
 
Ru inhales the heavy scent that wafts from the new rain. It smells like old and new altogether.
 
She stands near the edge of a cliff, where she’d sparred Toulouse before and raises her head up. Closing her eyes to take in the idiosyncrasies of the Edge. If there are scents of the others, they are muted and lost to the rain. However, the waves that twist below her provide offerings of salt and seaweed. The earth smells of rich grass, and the woods offer up their bark with the subtle hint of blooming flowers.
 
How they combine with the rain, collected far beyond the reach of the horizon is indescribable. Yet the beat of the drops against feather and skin provide a soothing rhythm, one that is not lost from the roar of the sea below her. She craves affection still, to be touched, and the rain has kindly provided this desire for the woman. Embraced by the elements – these will simply have to do.
 
And perhaps it is enough to be content, and satiated.
 
For a while she has become a stone figure. Dropping her head and opening her eyes to peer back into the forest, a ways away from the even ground that is barren of trees. An outcropping that looks out into the sea.
 
Besides the rain there is sparring. And besides affection and the want to press against a warm and wanting body – her eyes hunger to train herself.
 
For one so young her experiences are few and far between. Three seasons of fighting won’t prepare her for what’s to come. Whatever it was, that stood between her and defending this new found home.
 
Home.
 
The Edge is home now. For its twisting canopies, and the shelter and the faces that are becoming a little more familiar. It may not be in her blood, but she assumes she too will grow her own roots. And become interconnected with them in one way or another.
 
For now though, she must spill blood and toil for her connection with the herd. Eventually they will see.
 
With that thought, she walks further along the wet ground, and makes her ceremonious cry in challenge. Picking up a piece of herself – a fragment, that was enthralled with the wind and adored the rain that slid down her coat – and cast it alongside with the magic that inevitably followed the motion with her soul. A 10m beam of light struck out from where she waited and into the sky. Signaling her position to anyone who felt necessary to brawl.


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Words: 462
Setting: World's Edge, mid-day, raining, trees in the background that come out to a flat grassy surface. Ending at a cliffside.