Stone Circle Dearly

Katla offers up a little brown paw to the patter of rainfall and the nornir hugs her closer, pressing a kiss to the rounded space between the tips of her ears. Her daughter's hand against her’s is so small.

“It falls only like tears,” she whispers, “sometimes the sky has to cry, too.” Tauris lifts her muzzle into the wind, eyes closing a moment.

“I like the rain.”