"...A storm...?"

"Hm? You're disappointed?"

"Wull, it's...kinda ominous, ain't it?" Hawk grimaced. He added, subdued, "I mean, I got a lot of poison in me. I know that...I guess I was hopin' there was more to me than just that."

Numair shot him a somewhat surprised glance over the rim of his glass. "Oh, no, it's not that sort of storm," he said. "It's eh, a summer storm, the sort that moves in after a hot day."

He looked at it now, at the massive thunderhead that hung in the dark sky, the lightning jumping quietly amongst the tops of the clouds. The golden-brown grass came up to his elbows, and swept away in a uniform plain towards the dark horizon, where it blurred into the sky.

"You feel things very intensely, I think," he said. "And you've been hurt very badly, many times. There's rage and pain, that's only natural. But also...how do I say it? Something protective, steadfast, gentle, kind.

"Have you never seen a storm like that? The sort that makes you think, ah, finally.

"How small the world looked before it came along.

"I can feel the thunder in my chest. But I can also smell the rain. And it's been such a hot day."