Third Person POV
The rain did not care about anything. It came down hard and indifferent, hitting the leaves above and the mud below and everything in between with equal commitment, the kind of rain that had not been asked for and was not going to be apologized for.
The trees at the forest's edge offered some cover and very little comfort. The path beneath Sonita's feet had stopped being a path and started being a decision the mud was making on her behalf with every step she took.
She kept moving.
Her cloak was soaked through. It had been soaked through for a while now, the fabric heavy and clinging, doing none of the things a cloak was supposed to do and all of the things water did when fabric gave up trying to stop it. Her boots made sounds she could hear even over the rain. She pushed forward anyway.
Her mother's voice was still in her head.
