They say that when it storms the gods are fighting. The Lord of the Night and the Lady of the Dawn bare their teeth and claws and the thunder is their voice as they fight a never ending battle. How do you describe such perfect energy, the raw power of the wind as it whips your face and the sharp drops of poison as the cold rain hits your skin. The frightening roar of thunder just above your head and the way the light changes in the sky steel blue and charcoal gray above you and bright orange and purple as the storm passes so all you can see is a riot of colour. Childish delight and awed wonder mix as you are saturated to the skin, leaving you wanting, but for what? Primeval power still thrums through your body as you watch and wait and listen, you can compare it to the last time you saw a storm and you know. You know that standing here in the middle of the clearing with your clothes sticking to your body and teeth chattering with cold that you could never leave this place now. You know that the city life has nothing for you and you know, deep in your heart that you can never, ever, go back to the city with its bright lights and humid heat and noise. The storm starts to fade and as you listen for the last strains of power you realize: the storm will never fade in your heart.