Thyme
Thymehad always loved the rain. It had been her everlasting companion. When she couldn't sleep, it sung honeyed melodies to soothe her wild spirit. When she was frustrated, almost to the point of crying, it would whisper words of comfort until she became a steady river of calm, flowing thought; and, if she was lonely, as she so often found herself, it would keep her company and tell her stories of far off places, and adventures, and excitements she would never be able to see, or hear, or experience for herself.
Today was no different.
She spun, and skipped, and listened, and laughed when the rain would say something particularly amusing.
In retrospect, she probably would have appeared to be unfathomably strange to any prying eyes that would find her in this, her happiest state. However, no one here ever pays attention to anything other then their studies, right? Doubtless it wouldn't have mattered. She had never identified with another human being well enough to actually care what anyone thought; Other then herself, of course.
The rain was talking again, and she paused for the briefest of moments in order to listen to its infinite wisdom. The boy is leaving.
"The boy?" she whispered in reply, moving her lips as minimally as possible so that they appeared not to move at all. The rain merely laughed a light myriad of sound. She shrugged and then stared at the sky, never stopping the whirling dance her body had taken up. She did this, staring at the sky I mean, in order to discern where the rain came from. She knew the scientific reason, of course, but she always felt that science had no part to play in the game that was only between her and the rain.
That was when she heard it. It was soft at first, so soft that anyone other then herself would have missed it. However, it was a sloping crescendo into an audible sigh. The rain was singing. She stilled completely, enraptured as always be the captivating sound. Her heart raced to catch up to the tempo the song had taken up. As the song ended, signaling the end of her time with the rain, and the continuation of its journey, she ran to the mansion with a glee that even a fey would be envious of. The rain had graced her with a new song, one she must play quickly, lest she forget the notes that were now so fresh in her mind.
She raced down the hallway, soaking the rich velvety carpet, and dashed through the door to the commons. From there she flew up the stairs, or rather tried to do so, as the mixture of gravity and wet marble were not being kind to her today. She slipped down the dormitory hallway, and slid a few feet past her door, unable to stop her forward motion. She quickly backtracked a few step and shakily unlocked her door. She burst forward into the room and slammed the door, once again thankful that Roger had been so kinds as to sound proof her room, lest she be forced to share the rain's song. Greedy creature that she was, she would never willingly do so. She yanked her violin off of its pedestal and tuned the instrument as quickly as her nimble fingers would allow her. She raised the bow and allowed it to swim back and forth across the taught strings. Her fingers appeared to dance with all the grace of a Russian ballet; and from her ministrations came the song that, like all the other gifts the rain had given her, captivated her very soul. And more: The song of the Rain number 25.