When the time came to walk the dogs around the village before sleep the rain had stopped. The wind had gone and all the water had washed away even the cold. No stars, just a sky of dark cloud. All around in the stillness streams babbled a chatter of watersong. Across the fields the sound of the sea's roar was muffled by distance. The waves were dancing up a storm tonight. And over above St Davids an orange cloud like a dragon hung in the night sky.
Then it began. Just a whisper at first, a gentle falling, tapping, the scent of fresh rain, a slow rhythm. It grew and the steady beat gained weight until it drummed down again from the sky, but now we were home again and the glow of light and the warmth of the fire were a welcome and refuge. There will be no hunting tonight.