Their dwelling overlooks Kahje’s northern ocean. It unfurls before them like a living thing, writhing and churning in beneath a clouded, rainy sky.
They’re huddled together on a swinging porch chair, an old earth antiquity type thing that is apparently a novelty among tourists. Shepard has one toe on the floorboards beneath them, idly pushing them into motion when their swinging slows time and again.
Her eyes are as wide as saucers.
There’s nothing but the sound of the sea, the pattering of rain against sand and the static curtain that pops and zips quietly beneath each falling drop.
Eventually, she stands.
“I still can’t believe this, you know? Sometimes I forget that rain is something that happens. Sometimes I forget about weather entirely. Have you ever thought about it?” She gestures out at the darkening sky, the last remaining rays of light filtering through heavy cloud cover as the sun sinks below the horizon.
“Water…. falling from the sky. Just little bits of it, a little bit at a time… falling from nothing. From… clouds, water suspended in the air in a million microscopic drops. And it falls… and disappears again when the sun comes out.”
He has to smile at her childish wonder as he realizes what she’s trying to say. Realizes why she begged him to take her here for so long and why she doesn’t want to go inside, even in the rain.
Especially in the rain.
“You grew up on a starship?”
He rises to stand beside her, sticking one hand out of the static curtain around their dwelling to feel the rain falling against his open palm.