“It’s raining.”

I bite my equine tongue. “Given our current situation, I would have to say that is the least remarkable thing you could possibly comment on.”

“Rain is death. Ernest Hemingway, ‘In the fall when the rains came, the leaves all fell from the chestnut trees and the branches were bare and the trunks black with rain’. It’s rather suiting that it’s raining today; our old lives are gone, the rain represents that death.”

“Whoa, easy there, pony.” I walk towards my sister. “Maybe it’s just raining because we are in Seattle, and it rains like 364.99 days of the year here?”

Twilight looks back at me with a soft laugh, “Very true, Shining.”