"Loma, where are you?" Alaric called out for his beloved as he stormed into her house.
A sense of panic caused him to be more forceful than normal as he slammed the door and locked it behind himself. His composure dangled by a thread, and he cursed Ozul yet again for noticing something that he should have seen first. If Loma was in pain and he'd failed her by not being there, he wasn't sure he could forgive himself.
As he'd strode through he streets of the compound like an arrow loosed in flight, the grey blanket of clouds that had spread across the sky finally shook out the rain they were holding inside in a sudden downpour. Instead of taking shelter, Alaric ignored it as it battered him, and now his hair was plastered to his neck and his jacket was soaked through.
The torrent beat down on the roof, and the steady drumming barely concealed the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears.
