Blessings in raindrops

Ka Ammet · 05-09-2011, 03:38 AM

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Sorry for taking so long, this past week has been such a nightmare.

Wet was one of the most terrible states of existence, as far as Ammet was concerned. Wet made everything worse. Wet made cold bitter and heat oppressing, wet made clothes heavy, and wet always brought with it disease and rot. Most of all wet was a generally unnatural state of existence, or at least it was back on the banks of the Nile. In Europe, on the high seas, and especially in Nova Scotia this day, wet was the norm. Still, he never enjoyed the wet.

He had wanted to go to Halifax before the rain solidified his choice. As far as he knew, Halifax was one of the true remaining human settlements. He was sure he would find texts and artifacts to keep him intrigued at least for a little while. Beyond that, there was fish. Ammet is a peculiar fellow in that he never formally learned how to hunt. He had tried his hand a few times with varied results, but his staple diet has been and always will be fish. He knows fish well, and he has developed quite the taste in his seasons. This day, as far as he was concerned, belonged to the fish. His innards ached and begged for the oily ichor, his nose stung with the pungent aroma, in his hunger he was even looking forward to the slime and scales. The rain did not dampen his mood, in spite of his hatred of it. In fact, this was one of the few times he was thankful for a rain storm.

His enthusiasm made him careless. Saliva practically fell from his lips like the rain as his gray cloak billowed behind him. He was soaked through in his steady trot and an old, timeworn net was ready in his left hand. He was careless, not nearly observant enough of predation as he made his single minded march for the ocean; his starved form would have made easy pickings for a would be brigand. He had a predatory gleam in his eye.

It would be difficult to say why he slowed down exactly when he did; he certainly had little reason to. Maybe he caught glimpse of something useful out of the corner of his eye, a new net or pole? Maybe he had too little energy left to keep up the pace. Or maybe something unfathomable just made him stop. Either way, he was there, in front of what was once a human hunting store, staring dumbly into the window. The reprise soon began anew however, and he was off to the ocean. He knew his net would be enough to feed him, and this good storm would not last forever.

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