It was a bright and stormy morning, lit by flashes of thunder among the gloom, as rain poured down the hills as one to carve through the sandy soil. The earth was almost lost beneath the streams and growing muddied pools of rain, as only long blades of grass and trees showed it was there. The trees too were burdened more than with their roots beneath the water, as their leaves beaten from above and branches weighted by the rain.
The folk that lives in this valley have seen such storms before, their houses built on a central hill now like an island out at sea. They had raised their homes with earth and stone to make their hill ever higher, and reinforced their pointed roofs so they would not collapse. The folk here came together when the waters rose so far, and under a large shelter they sat with a high ceiling and no walls.
Here they watched the rains go by and listened to the thunder, it was too loud to hear another speak between the drops and flash of storm. The horizon on all sides would show hills beyond the mist, the rain hiding the world from them and them from the world as it fell. The crops rose from the water showing tips of yellow and green, in straightened lines in the water they sat as though the water wished it could be so farmed.
The folk here never fret from such downpours they receive, their lands made ever more fertile from the hills which enclose their home. When the rains subside it will be time to harvest a crop or two, but in the mean time they sit and watch as dawn breaks through the storm.