The Rising Storm

Wavelets lapped around her ankles, shushing on the wet sand. A breeze slunk in from the east, carrying the scent of lightning as it whispered in her braids, lifting the feathers and rubbing the beads tied there. She stood staring over the grey water, unable to move. Black clouds roiled on the horizon, riding towards her on the back of the wind, blades of lightning flickering in their midst. Where was the sun? It should be rising; she could taste the dawn in the air. And suddenly it broke through the mounting storm, red as wine, turning the sea to blood, a corrosive, coppery scent assaulting her nose. The rays struck like swords, crowning a shadow, an impenetrable shadow riding on the bloody waves like a hunting bird. And the wind murmured fear into her ears.