quoth the raven

Night brought with it a rainstorm of epic proportions. Thunder rumbled ferociously overhead, though its strength brought the illusion that it quaked beneath your very paws. Lightning flashed violently across the sky every few minutes, illuminating the world in stark relief. Earlier in the day, the young Abraxas had created a monument from the mud of the creek bed. Now, it was all but destroyed by nature's vengeance. He didn't mind. There were more interesting things afoot tonight.

Any other night, the moon would be at its height in the sky. In a mimicry of those nights where he gazed at her beauty, the phoenix marked boy watched the sky. Clouds painted the sky like bruises, dappled over one another as a monument to the rage of nature. They reminded him of God. His God. Risen from wrath and fury, dark and mottled like a battered mortal. Each thunderclap shook his body. Were they reminiscent of the clashing of the gods on that fateful day, when they banished God? He liked to think they were. One day, he was going to be a mighty warrior. He would bring glory to the Abraxas name, like his father. Like their leader, and his father before him.

Though he wasn't big and strong yet, the auburn youth was determined. He would keep his mama and his papa safe, with Kefka by his side. It would be great! Until that day came, he needed to train and spar. He needed to learn.

Crystalline gaze turned stark silver as lightning splintered the clouds. Lashes dappled with heavy raindrops fluttered lightly against his cheekbones, blinded by the might of the sky. His downy fur was clumped with rain, his skin thoroughly soaked. With each passing day, the creek swelled against its banks. The rain became less warm, less of the blessing upon harsh times. Tonight, he began to feel a chill against his skin. The boy ignored it, hoping to stay out a little longer to watch the storm.