From the corner of her eye she saw the night sky brighten at the flash of light. There was no sound, no wind, no rain, just the flash of light from behind that cloud. That one cloud that shielded the realm of men from the throne of the gods.
“They are angry tonight,” she whispered to her lover.
“They’re always angry” he spat.
Light continued to flash. She didn’t flinch as did the girls across the roadway. In Manchioneal, it was taboo to talk of the gods of their forefathers. Long it’s been since they last existed, but she and he believed and relished in their countenance.
The lightening sky was, to the common folk, a natural phenomenon, the precursor for the things to come. And the things that came with lightening was the thunder, the rain, wind, sleet or snow. But that night, there was none of that, and so she knew the gods were arguing.
She stepped toward her open window and lost herself in the dancing light and soundless sky. The cloud hid most of the fight but a bolt was seen ever so often and in a particular direction. Somegod is getting it tonight she thought.
Later that night, she was awoken by a clap of thunder so loud it shook their house. The thunder rumbled and rolled, and stumbled all over itself and she knew somegod was thrown across their room.
At that moment she wished she could be a fly on the wall of the throne room of the gods, to witness the debacle, the exchange. She was blinded by a flash momentarily, then deafened by the thunder that followed, and she wondered what did he do now?
This time, it rained, it poured, and it was windy. The quiet was broken by the active night sky. The gods were at war now, and though few still believed in they, the thought of the gods at war was terrifying.