The soft patter of rain fell over the forest. In the soft darkness of the early evening, soft notes came from the flute Abigail held between her fingers. She sat beneath a tree, eyes watching the rain hit the water of the river she sat next to. She glanced up and smiled briefly as she paused the song.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay in that rain,” she mused, shifting and patting the grass next to her beneath the tree.