Submission (#6228) Approved

I’ve always preferred the quiet of the swamps. The thick air, the stillness of the water, the way the fog clings to the trees—it suits me. It’s peaceful. And most folks tend to stay away, which is just fine by me. I scare them anyway, with my size and my voice. But today, even the swamp feels different. The air’s heavy, like it’s holding its breath. The animals are quiet, too quiet. It’s a warning, I know that much.

I look up, and there it is—dark clouds, bruised and angry, gathering on the horizon. It’s not just another storm, not the kind that blows in and out, drops some rain, maybe cracks a few branches. This is something else, something unnatural. The colors in the clouds aren’t right—greens and purples swirling like oil on water. A bitter smell lingers in the wind, and my skin prickles. I know Stormy’s out there somewhere, and knowing him, he’s already racing toward it.

And I’m right. Before I can even blink, I hear him—Stormy, coming in hot. He’s always moving, always chasing something, always loud. Even from here, I can feel the buzz of his excitement as he skids to a stop next to me, practically vibrating.

“Did you feel it, Haze?” he says, breathless. “That storm—tell me you sensed it. This one’s different.”

He doesn’t even need to ask. Of course, I felt it. The storm’s been gnawing at my senses all day, but I don’t say anything at first. Instead, I just nod, tuning into the sky. “It’s not right,” I finally tell him. My voice comes out low, like always, deep enough to rumble. “Whatever’s in there, it’s not natural. There’s something more to it.”

Stormy grins, and I can tell he’s not really listening. He’s too caught up in the thrill. That’s how he is—headlong into danger without a second thought, too excited to worry about what might happen. I admire it, in a way, even if it drives me crazy.

“I’m going in,” he says, and before I can stop him, he’s gone, a blur racing toward the storm. I stand there for a moment, feeling him disappear into the dark sky, and I sigh. Of course, he’s going in. He can’t help himself. But me? I’m not chasing after him—not yet. I’ll keep an eye on him from a distance, let him get his fill of it. But something about this storm has me uneasy, and that doesn’t happen often.

I start walking, slowly, keeping my senses open, feeling the pulse of the storm even from where I stand. The wind’s starting to pick up, howling through the trees, pulling at the branches. I can feel the pull of the storm too, the energy in it, but it’s more than just weather. There’s a presence inside it, something alive.

Stormy’s close now, too close. I can glance him circling the storm, testing its edges, like he’s daring it to fight back. And that’s when it happens. The clouds open up, and for a moment, I swear I sense something in them—a shape, a figure, something watching. The wind roars, and lightning cracks the sky, dark and sharp like nothing I’ve felt before.

And for once, I see Stormy hesitate. Just for a second, but it’s there. He’s not so sure anymore.

“Stormy!” I shout, my voice carrying over the wind, but he doesn’t hear me. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s drawn to it, whatever it is in that storm, and I know there’s nothing I can say to stop him. But I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, worse than anything we’ve ever faced.

I start moving toward him, my legs heavy in the rising winds. I may not be fast like him, but I’m steady, and I can take whatever this storm throws at me. But I can’t help thinking, as I feel the clouds twist and churn—whatever’s in there, it’s not going to let him go so easily.

And neither will I.