I am here, and will not leave.
The voice cuts through the noise, through my racing thoughts. The downpour is collecting on the ground, pulling at my feet. I’m gasping for air in this flood of rain, grit coating my teeth. My footing should have slipped long ago. This rain is not clean, it is not gentle.
The raven shakes its feathers against the wet, its talons digging into my shoulder. It came with the rain. It will not leave.
I grab a lamppost and take a moment to rest, or at least to stand still against the torrent. There isn’t much direction, I’m just trying to go up. Up, away, maybe somewhere with a shower. Whatever is in this rain, it’s dripping into my eyes.
I am here.
I try to shake the voice away. Here is a disconcerting thought when spoken directly into the mind. I shove off the lamppost and wade against the flood. I don’t know when the next lamppost will appear. I can’t see a thing.
Everything is a terrible sort of brown.
And will not leave.
If it could lift me and fly away, I could find a way to get used to its voice. If it could even just drag me enough to help me fight the rushing water, I could stop slapping away every word it gave me. I don’t suppose the wet is good for spreading wings. Not this kind, at the very least.
My legs are shaking, I think. Perhaps all of me is shaking. I don’t know if I’ll find ground high enough to escape this.
I can’t let the water take me though. The fear of that is all I have left. That, and the talons piercing my shoulder.
I am here.
If anything, I will not let this raven be swept away. I have to find somewhere higher. Somewhere to keep it above this flood.
I will not leave.
I reach another lamppost. The current grows stronger. I think my shoulder might be bleeding.
Wings above me spread, impossibly large.
I am here.
I think I’m flying.