Axeyl's POV
Black clouds sprawl across the sky, billowing in from the west. Their brassy glare drains the color from houses and trees and burnished cars in driveways, leaving neighborhoods tinted bronze in the faltering light. The air grows heavy and the humidity presses down, suffocating. The boughs of the trees swayed in the strengthening gust, surrendering their fall leaves without a fight.
In a storm, it can be tough to recall the light, hard to see the temporary nature of such beasts. When the raging deluge is closer to your skin than the air, when it thunders louder than any bird could ever sing and pushes harder than boat oars in the sea waves - it can only burn itself out. Storms come masquerading as knife and coffin yet are neither, they are more as the tough love teacher who
