Title: Gentle Rain

By: Spoonvonstup

Summary/Explanation: I wrote the first version of this in a little notebook in 8th grade one rainy weekend. And I have no idea what happens next... ^_^ Ah well, that's what reviews are for, no? Just don't ask me what happen because, like I said, I'm as clueless as the rest of you.

Gentle rain, sent to cleanse Earth of its woes; to clean the battlefield of our lives with forgiving tears. The rain gently pats the windowpane and clings, unwilling to fall to the ground below and be forgotten. But even when the sun shines through to light the day and give way to a night full of stars, there is still the memory in the Earth of the sky's tears.

The gray sky shed tears, washing the world in all the dull shades of grief. The sky grieved for the great loss.
The humans below did not go out to the fields even though the misting drizzle would not have hampered their work. They sat in their homes, clinging to one another, for even they could feel the sorrow imbued in the dampness creeping under their doors and windowsills. They shared in the collective feeling of loss, though none could know why. In the mournful hills, Krynn sat in a strange calm. His gray eyes reflected the rain, shielding his inner turmoil from the world. He was jealous of the lamenting sky yet grateful for the weather. He could not cry; the elements did so for him.
Within, Krynn could feel his anguish gradually forming an ember, a hard coal that would fuel the flames of revenge.

Dyrol smeared his bloodied sword on the grass as the drops began to fall. He studied the animal's carcass in front of him speculatively. She had been his first challenge in a great while.
He blinked at the sky, deciding that the rainfall would soon intensify, and heaved himself up into a standing position. Starting down the lane to the little village of Derakned, the wanderer smiled in anticipation of his payment. Superstitious villagers paid considerable sums to rid themselves of dangerous dragons.
The body was left in the field for the buzzards, a stark contrast of white against the bloodied ground.