Sirina, for gracedlings on tumblr.
Sometimes, the spirit of the lake was not lonely.
She could count those times on one hand. On, in fact, three fingers.
The spirit of earth and laughing wild things had filled up her days with joy; and the little child who had once fallen into her waters and emerged again with her swift guidance, whose solemn eyes had made the lake-spirit wonder whether she was not touched by some spirit, herself.
But the earth-spirit had been driven away by the roar and chop and burn of mankind, perhaps even killed, and the child had left when others of her kind had come to take her away.
The lake-spirit had been lonely ever since, surrounded by the steel and cement and endless rushing feet of the ones who had made her so.
Until, that is, the day that raindrops whispered across her shifting skin, and carried with them a whisper that said, you are not alone.
Desperate with hope, the lake-spirit lifted her mists to the sky, asking after the one who spoke to her; and the storm-spirit spoke back, and told her of strength and majesty and open skies.
The humans huddled in their homes before the storm, and the rain went on for days as the lake-spirit spoke, and listened, and was no so lonely. But the clouds could not stay forever, and the storm-spirit went away, on wings of warm wind.
Follow me, murmured the last of the raindrops as they mingled with the lake. Come away, and follow me. And the lake-spirit was afraid, for the world (so she'd heard) was big, big, big; but she delved beneath the earth (wondered if the earth-spirit was there, still, wondered but could not look back), and found the rivers, and followed them to sea.
And the rains came for her, the thundered roared with joy, the wind danced with wild delight; and as the waves of the new spirit of the sea rolled and hissed and crashed in harmony with the storm, she knew that loneliness would never touch her again.