Storm Rages

The rain is coming down hard and has been for quite a while. A shiver runs up and down his spine as the cold rain finally makes it through his weather resistant cloak and soaks into his clothing underneath. He stops his trudging through forest to look around him. He knows that if this storm continues and he does not find shelter he will likely not survive the cold night. A soft orange glow catches his eye in the distance off to his right. Suddenly a bolt of lightning lights up the area brighter than the most brilliant noontime sun. In the instant of blinding light he sees that glow is coming from the window of a cabin. Even as his eyes are still suffering that after affect of the flash, he is almost bowled over by the following clamp of thunder.

By the time he reaches the small log structure, he is soaked to the bone by the cold driving rain. He stops before the roughly hewn door pausing for a moment. He decides that with storm raging simple knocking will most likely not be heard, so he decides to put some into it. He winds up to slam his fist hard against the door, but as his hand impacts with the wood the door abruptly opens. Not expecting the door to give way, he is thrown slightly off balance and stumbles forward into the cabin. After regaining his balance he quickly scans the room, but sees nobody. He turns, closes, and latches the door. He stands just inside the door with a puddle rapidly forming on the wood floor and calls out to the occupants.

After several minutes and several calls with no response, he concludes that there must not be anybody here. He looks around the room, which is lit only by the fire burning in the hearth. The furniture is sparse and looks to be home made by hands more used to other work. Even in the dim lighting his keen eyes have no trouble seeing what lies before him. On the floor in front of the fireplace is a dark bearskin rug. He pulls the hood of his cloak off revealing his wet blonde hair running down his back under the cloak. With the hair being pressed down by the weight of the water his pointed ears are clearly visible if the were anybody to see. He removes his cloak and hangs it on a peg sticking out of the wall near the door. He sets his pack on the floor against the wall and leans his longbow against the door. He places his quiver of wooden arrows next to his pack. He then quickly disrobes from his wet clothing and drapes them around the room to dry.

After ringing as much water as possible out of his hair, he silently moves around the room searching for something to cover his nudity. He is carrying only his weapon belt with long sword in scabbard and sheathed dagger on it. He finally discovers a thin blanket, which he wraps around his bare shoulders. He then places his thin yet muscular form on the bearskin as close to the fire as he dares to get setting with legs crossed and hands on his lap under the blanket. His weapons are placed on the floor just in front of him. He closes his eyes basking in the warmth from the fire and begins to meditate. His moment of peace is suddenly shattered as the door comes flying open hitting the wall with a loud bang. He snaps his head around to look at the doorway. Back lit by a bolt of lightning he sees the silhouette of a beautiful rain drenched woman.