Bearclaw Valley What good to be a god myself, unless things can touch your heart?

Rain drummed incessantly over everything, its chill felt keenly by the supine boy. Drenched from nose to tail and caked with mud. He lay upon his belly with his legs splayed like a spider crushed under heel, tail whipping through a growing puddle, whipping the surface.

Cold and wet, yes, but to some degree numb as well. Glaucos did so enjoy listening to the rain as it fell in sheets. It was the sharp touch of the drops that felt so shocking upon his skin, almost like little teeth, but they did not draw his blood or hurt him the way teeth did.

In this manner the boy communed with the sky, feeling for once a part of something.