The Stormkeeper’s Hand

The first time Mara caught lightning, it did not strike her. It curled around her wrist like a curious silver vine and showed her the village below: every chimney, sleeping dog, and blue cup left beside a bed. Since then, she has carried storms over the hills when the fields grow thirsty. Tonight, the clouds are angry. Mara lifts her hand, and somewhere in the dark, a thousand roofs begin to listen.