Honeyed Pasture If you strip away the myth from the man

The constant downpour of what he could only call mist did nothing to soothe his anxieties. He'd rather have rain — why couldn't the weather commit to something instead of being annoying ambivalent?

Something came trotting towards him. He paused, his eyes turning to the shape that began to materialize in the gloom. Once it sharpened into a canine-like form, the creature lurched away. He snorted in dull amusement. Not what you were looking for? he said, muffled through his clenched teeth.