The Sunspire Out Like A Light

The skies had been crying for a while now, he noticed. Their tears dripping endlessly and choking the world down with their sorrow, drowning—ending. The prince had seen far too many bodies waterlogged—turned over and floating in the water with their bloated bellies.

He absentmindedly wondered if they had families, had love. Had places where they belonged and if they had others waiting for them to return home.

He wondered if Easthollow was expecting him to return home.

Leaning himself against a great oak, the boy lifted his head up with closed eyes, feeling the splattering of rain upon his face before it dripped down in rivers across his sides and legs. The coldness of it soothing, distracting him from the world around and the heavy feelings that always seemed clutched tightly to his heart.

He didn't even take note of the rolling thunder ahead before it was too late—
before the bolt struck down.

He thought of nothing else in his demise. Just Easthollow—just rain.

Not even the pain of the gods wrath had been felt.

If anyone were to find him he would long be cold, stiff against the earth and fodder to the crows as they picked at his flesh.