Illya was not frightened of thunder. Even as a little girl, she simply knew that it was the sound of a storm overhead. In fact, she associated that sound with the idea of rain. Rain that would come and give life to the land all around her, that was what thunder meant to Illya. Now, staring at the vast desert sandscape before her, Illya began to pray. You see, storms in the village were times of calm and peace. In the forest, rain meant safety. In the mountains, rain meant fresh water to drink. In the desert, it meant that the sand would become a demon made of daggers and the wind would steer you deeper into the unknown. A storm in the desert was the closest one could come to death in Illya’s mind. Even now, atop her horse, she could only debate the options before her. Set up camp and hope it is a short storm or to outrun the clouds and their demons.
Illya’s eyes looked out over the shadows cast by the storm clouds at her back. They grew longer and longer every moment. Each passing breath was another foot of shadow that had crept its way across the sands. Torok was champing at the bit, knowing that his rider was uneasy and that they would soon be racing at top speed. Illya had to make a decision and the roll of distant thunder somewhere behind her kicked her heels, driving the horse to charge off towards the dunes in front of them.
The wind roared around them, both due to the speed of the horse and rider as well as the new gusts of wind coming from the storm at their heels and hooves. Torok’s hooves thundered across the packed sand, pounding as his breath began to grow quick and labored. Illya kept her gaze locked to the dunes on the horizon even as the clouds behind her roared out yet another heavy roll of thunder.
Every hoofbeat seemed to echo Illya’s heartbeats, her hands clutching the reins tighter as the wind began to blow a bit harder at her back. Turning her head towards the clouds, she could see what made the people of the desert fear these storms. Towering into the sky, blasting sand across the world, a wall of dust blanketed the world. Lightning tore from the clouds and pierced the sand only to crash against the desert floor. Then came the raindrop.
First, there was one. A small raindrop that spattered itself against Illya’s goggles. The girl’s heart skipped a beat as she urged Torok to run faster. Another drop, then another, then four more, and before long, the rain came crashing down. Sheets of cool, clear water pelted Illya’s body as she raced against time towards the horizon. Her horse’s heart thumping loudly under her as she chanced another look back at the wall of dirt behind her. It was close, close enough to smell, and it looked like it was full of rage.
Torok beat his hooves as fast as he could, his eyes looking bewildered as he hoped for a place to hide out the storm in, and Illya was doing much the same. Illya could almost feel the wind gripping at her hair as she rode faster across the sands. Without word, without warning, the storm came and Illya, Torok, and the sands of that desert were wiped away. Were the storm a living thing, it might have seemed like the hand of God had descended upon this mortal plane and swiped away the living from that very desert.
Minutes passed, the storm dropping an ocean of water onto the land before drifting further across the desert. The wind died, the sand settled, and the world was calm again. No more were the thunderous beats of hooves, the roar of the winds nor the clap of thunder. Now, there was only silence. A deep silence that can only be found in the darkest depths of night.
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