Floodland: A Visual Short Story (Part 3 of 10)

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On the day when thunder began to rumble high up there beyond the curtain of moisture clouds, excitement spread through the Rock as fire was once said to do with dry straw.

The little ones stopped playing and chasing each other in the dank alleys and musty nooks and crannies and, with their eyes wide open, nosed upward to scan the hidden sky, shivering with anticipation each time the thunder -- getting closer and closer -- shook the stones of houses and bridges.

And, along with them, the grown-ups. All the Villagers gathered on the Main Balcony to wait for the Blessing of the Freshwater.

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