A Sliver of Fury
short introspective-ish drabble of August thinking abt Ame when Ame gets Really Pissed (aka goes into feral storm spirit mode). Mostly me playing around with (way too much) imagery.
August loved his sibling. But there were times when the sight of them instilled in him nothing but fear.
Ame high in the sky, a ribbon of white against an expanse of rolling, dark clouds. They were the beast of the storm, its master, the clouds shifting and swelling with rain at the mere twitch of their tail. Lightning striking in hot bolts wherever they glanced, setting trees aflame and crisping grass to ash. The air so thick with moisture, it was choking.
Their storms blackened the sky. Completely. Not a peek of blue as far as the horizon.
Under their influence, the sky became a tumultuous sea of harsh winds and relentless, pounding rain. Of thunder that cracked the air – so loud that it vibrated your bones, made your breathing stutter in your chest. The response was instinctual. Primal. The icy-burning desire to run, to get as far away as possible. But even inside even underground, there was no way to escape it. The storm howled, empty and angry and brutal. It raged against walls of houses, clawed off bricks and rooves, sunk its teeth into bark and up-rooted every tree and building in its path.
It was then, when August saw the crown of lightning erupting from his sibling’s skull – splitting the darkness with lines of electric fury – that he remembered why storm spirits were feared.