Emil threw his arms out and shouted something exultant in Swedish.
At least, he sounded exultant; it might have been a curse, because the next moment a wall of water dropped from the sky with neither sign nor signal. Lalli winced, drew his shoulders up against the downpour, and watched Emil’s grin change to shock, then horror, then downright offence.
Emil opened his mouth and Lalli sprang at him, covering it.
“Psshh!”
Emil muttered something angry into his palm. Lalli glared at him.
Seconds passed before Emil heaved a sigh and nodded slightly. Lalli slowly withdrew his hand.
A smile darted across Lalli's lips, fleeting as the swaths of sunlight that swept the land and sky. Droplets, catching the late-afternoon light, glimmered like crystalline fireflies. “Rain,” said Lalli simply, and Emil shrugged.
Lalli closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed the water, warm with the heat of summer, to run off his face.
It was so quiet. There was the hiss of rain on grass, the splash and trickle of water on rock. There was Emil’s soft, entitled grumbling and the bleating of sheep, and every sound was so clean, so empty and audible.
There was silence.
Lalli’s ears strained to hear them, but the voices were gone. Iceland had untied a rope from around his neck; he kept feeling for its pressure and finding that it wasn’t there.
Only the sound of rain.
