Hushed Willows tangled hills and tiny verio singing

He had been out to survey the territory when the rain started in. Nothing more than the outer band to something far more omnious and out to sea, the rain light and warm; the thunder itself a low rumble too quiet to drown out anything. Mordecai felt the temperature drop right out as the earth quenched its perpetual thirst, but this too would pass. Even in the absence of warmth the humidity clung to him like a wet blanket and much like the rainwater that was soaking him, he drug it around beneath the cover of trees that were not going to be making a convenient umbrella any time soon.

But at least like the ground, he could tell that the forestry was regrowing too. It would have been nice to see the willows, especially ones that were knitted together and offered the seclusion that he could come to discover about the Keep itself. The last couple of days had been nothing but a flurry of change, from names to faces he would take time recalling accurately, to the acceptance that it would going to be fairly warm in their shared lodging when his children—how decidedly larger they were now, at that—opted to drape themselves over him. He would not trade these comforts, however.

As another rumble of thunder followed him between trees, he came to pause on a lumpy overlook. Habit left him tracing his solitary gaze in search of prey. Higher ground had always been good for that, but nothing came of it in the few moments he devoted towards it.

iron & wine — new mexico's no breeze