The Boy Made of Rain
In tales and songs told and sung by bards and commoners alike from the east isle of Lun to the western Rinzer peaks there can be found a lonely being known only as The Girl Made of Wind.
The Girl Made of Wind is contradictory in nature, known to all but solitary, much like the wind itself. She drifts from place to place felt but forgotten, capable of soft touches and great destruction. She never stops and though her presence may seem to vanish she will undoubtedly return for that is the nature of the wind and so it is also the nature of The Girl Made of Wind.
The romantic allure of such a creature resides in her relatability. She is a nomad and rooted, everywhere and constantly moving everywhere else, still but at the same time ravaging and somewhere inbetween. When The Girl Made of Wind is everything there is to be she finds little difficulty in being everyone as well.
The Girl Made of Wind is fury, so the soldiers love her power, but she is agile and slippery too, so the thieves adore her grace. Like the wind that gifted her name she is gentle, so the lover admires her caress and the girl made of wind is a gift herself so the sailors give thanks for her guidance.
Despite the many tales of the girl and her element perhaps the most known of all is the fable of her friend. There are many titles that many may say but perhaps the most known of all is The Boy Made of Rain.
The Boy Made of Rain was a melancholy individual, loved by many and invited to visit but despite his kind qualities never allowed to stay. Where he went crops would flourish, none would go thirsty and the farmers would wonder why he took so long to arrive. Ever desiring affection, The Boy Made of Rain never told the truth. He was needed elsewhere and over all the world expected. So he would travel from town to town providing his help wishing for nothing more than thanks and maybe some love for the rain. On each and every journey he was to balance his time, not to delay and leave waiting or rest and outstay.
The Boy Made of Rain was joyful when welcomed and would watch as his water would give way to well-being. How he wished and would wonder, just this once, would they want him to stay? But the answer he knew from previous experience, and though each time he held hope each time he was hurt because his rain is solely treasured when his presence is absent. Time and time again the boy would appear and for a spell he would be greeted with glee. Time and time again he provided prosperity and beamed as the children plished, plashed and ploshed in his puddles. But, time and time again, to the boy's great gloom, the puddles would bolster and become plashets and ponds. When the farms became flooded the farmers were furious. When the children became chilled the mothers were monstruous. The Boy Made of Rain, his welcome well overstayed, would then evanesce one day, alone with his pain.
Such was life for The Boy Made of Rain, loved by many but never allowed to stay. He yearned for a place he could call his own. All the boy wanted was a somewhere to call home.
When the boy was alone he wept watery weather. Even when watched one would wonder whether the boy was whimpering or merely wiping his eyes. The speculation was sensible and The Boy Made of Rain knew that when someone is so saddened, such that troubles turn to tears, that those droplets that drip resemble remarkably the rain.
His mourning masked by that of which he was made, the boy kept on traveling and offering his aid.
More than once was his weeping witnessed by wanderers, and no more than never did the boy ever find solace. Until, one day, when the boy was wet wailing, was his sorrow sadly seen by the Girl Made of Wind. Unlike the pilgrims and voyagers that had simply passed by The Girl Made Wind swept down and stopped at his side. On many occasions as she soared through the skies she had carried tears and rain both. As The Boy Made of Rain sat with his face in his hands the girl swirled each trickle between her fingers, and because the girl was heartbreak and joy and everything else she endured and understood the boy's woe and placed a hand of warm breeze on his shivering shoulder.
The Boy Made of Rain was grief and sorrow, but as looked up at The Girl Made of Wind, who was beauty and care, he remembered that he was also life and love, just as in the moment she was also.
Hand in hand they flew and together they were enamored for as any romantic can tell you the wind and the rain are drawn to one another like The Father who is The Moon and The Mother who is The Sun. Their tender kiss was a cool zephyr and a drizzle on a summer day. Their passion was a gale and a life-giving deluge over the desert. Both were bliss and both were elation for it is the wind's nature to cherish and it is the rain's nature to be cherished and for a brief shower The Boy Made of Wind felt that home was wherever The Girl Made of Wind would take him.
However, as is the truth in any relation, The Boy Made of Rain learned of himself as he learned of The Girl Made of Wind. Like her he saw that he was also rage, and he was also ruin. The memory of his sorrow was an illness within him that turned rain into lashing hail, and the girl, who was empathy and was carnage, joined with him and together they were The Lovers Made of Storm. Such sovereignty over all was unmatched by the power of men who were fear and women who were loss. The beloved were regency and awe, decimation indiscriminate. Driven onwards by the wind, more powerful than he had ever been, The Boy Made of Rain was vengeance, and the lands where he had been cursed were razed by his passing.
Let us not forget, though, that The Girl Made of Wind is compassion and restraint. As quickly as their tempest had formed it was dissipated. Without the wind the boy was rain as he had been before, yet still his temper boiled. Unable to continue, the boy felt betrayed by The Girl Made of Wind who, as she had been before, was understanding and comprehension. She was calming, and The Boy Made of Rain could do nothing but soothe down to mist, powerless against the wind.
The Girl Made of Wind was aware, of course, that it was in the rain's nature to be temporary. Dissimilar to the wind which sways and fluctuates in each and every direction eternally, the rain begins and ends. For her, their time together had been little more than an enjoyable instant, but The Girl Made of Wind is perceptive and all-knowing, and knew that for The Boy Made of Rain they had spent a life together for he was no longer a boy but a man made of rain who was spent, and it is after the storm that the rain gradually fades and is forgotten by all but the wind who remembers every droplet.
So she left, as the wind does. She fluttered away with a delicate kiss and was gone, and The Man Made of Rain was left alone again with his tears that looked like rain until he too was gone.
Gone into the rivers. Gone into the lakes and gone into the seas where it is The Father who is The Moon's nature to move the waves and it is The Mother who is The Sun's nature to give birth to new rain with her warmth.
And because The Girl Made of Wind is forever she watches as The Boy Made of Rain is given life anew, and because The Girl Made of Wind is care she loves him, but The Girl Made of Wind is foresight and is balance and must watch the boy's joy and sorrow from afar, for together they become made of storm and the world needs more the rain than fury.
So, the wind waits and hears every secret for every word spoken is a part of her. She knows how the rain is loved and waits to tell him when they meet and the boy has no memory of her. She will never tell the rain that she waits, for the rain is sadness, and to know of her sorrow would cause him pain, and though she knows that together they are storm she hopes, for she is hope, that he will not be consumed by his anger and waste his rain on the tempest until he diminishes, for if the rain does not become the storm the boy may be eternal also, but the rain is short-lived and this the girl knows, so she waits. She waits for the brief instant during which they are glad to know one another that is a lifetime for the boy who becomes a man.
And The Man Made of Rain, little more than mist, loves the wind, ever youthful, ever immortal, and weeps as he dies for the wind has abandoned him, and has spent the greater part of his time with her on pointless havoc and rage. With his final tear, he wishes for the everlasting love of The Girl Made of Wind.
And The Girl Made of Wind offers it gladly.
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