Dust stirred up by the car's tires swirled around shiplap-sided houses. Open plains spread out around a small collection of buildings, giving the impression of an island breaking against the waves of a shallow sea.

Her parents told her they'd stopped to get directions. The girl didn't really understand that; there was only one road out here, how could they get lost? It had been a long, boring drive, she mused, looking out at the endless grass. No amount of radio or playing with her dolls in the back bench had helped rid her of that impression. Though sometimes the grass could be pretty. Right now the wind was stirring the blades in a rippling, swirling pattern. 'The wind's walking through the grass' is what her father had said. Thankfully they didn't take long to talk to the lady standing on the porch of the nearest house. Away they went, going in the same direction they were before, though supposedly with more confidence. A couple more hours brought them out of the plains and into rolling forested hills, each taller than the last. They wound their way up the tallest hill yet— almost a mountain— until they reached a house not quite in the middle of nowhere. It was a proud thing, two stories tall with white siding and gray slate roof tiles, aging but well loved and better maintained. Bright green grass was sown thickly between it and the encroaching treeline.

They were supposed to stay here while she was supposed to receive treatment from a doctor that was supposed to live here, but it all smelled rather fishy to the girl (and not because they were anywhere near an ocean). Asking about it gave her the same answers— 'The air is much better here' and 'He's the best we could reach' or sometimes 'There's plenty of work available nearby, too'. Just because she couldn't always run around and play like the other kids at home. She thought her parents were rather blowing it out of proportion, but maybe it would be nice to feel better; she succumbed to fevers too often to enjoy getting into trouble. And she might be able to catch that boy the next time he takes one of her dolls, darn him... That aside, the doctor and his wife were very nice people. They welcomed them with open arms and a tour around the house. The girl warmed up to them much more after they showed her a neat little chest full of toys in the room where she'd be sleeping. Her second favorite part of the house was the doctor's study, which held all sorts of souvenirs from his travels, including African tribal masks, jade figurines, and even a rain stick he'd acquired from the nearest town. The idea of summoning storms by shaking a stick at the sky seemed odd and fascinating in equal measure. Her family settled in quickly enough. Appointments with the doctor were part of the girl's daily routine, though he was mostly trying to figure out what was wrong with her for the time being. A few mild-tasting medicines were administered regularly as well. The girl herself had an absolute blast playing with the toys and running around the yard at first, but loneliness had a way of creeping in, and soon enough another fever interrupted her time there. The doctor was increasingly perturbed by the apparent lack of sources for her illness. Fouler tasting medicines came with the bout of illness, further adding to her misery. Abruptly as it had shown up, it passed three days later, leaving her well rested and ready for a terrible night's sleep. Knowing that she wouldn't fall asleep until the sun showed its face, the girl took this as an opportunity to wander around the house unsupervised. Her destination: the study. Neat trinkets and nobody around to stop her from touching them sounded wonderful to her restless mind. She pattered across the cool wood floors of the doctor's study, taking time to pick up and examine each object within her limited reach, while at least making an attempt to return them to their exact positions. Curiosity finally won the mental tug-of-war, leading her to the rain stick propped up in the back corner. It was easily taller than her and patterned with clean but detailed geometric designs. If she didn't drop it, her parents and the homeowners were far enough away to not hear it, she reasoned. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the hefty stick out of its resting place, turning it once over while being mindful of the fragile surroundings. The tiny pebbles inside of it began to rush down through the stick's inner structure. It emulated the sound of a deluge quite well in the girl's opinion. She admired the feeling of the pebbles' progress while the stick did its thing, imagining it to contain a miniature storm washing down the inner side. Once it was done, she gave it one last shake for good measure, and slowly, carefully set it back where it belonged. She immediately ran back to her room to watch for a storm out the window. After a few minutes she was disappointed, but it was reasonable to assume that summoning a storm was not a simple thing, so she settled into a child-sized rocking chair near the window to wait. She was about to grab a third toy to fiddle with when she heard it. A soft, distant boom of thunder. She rushed to the window, sliding it open. There they were— dark, dark gray clouds blotting out the stars not too far from her. And they were converging on the house at a very noticeable clip. At first she couldn't quite believe it; summoning rain? By shaking a stick, no less? But soon enough the first few raindrops fell down like timid beginning notes to a song. The symphony that followed was not so timid. Trees shook and bent under the furor of the storm, the wind hissing and howling high notes between their branches, all backed by an onslaught of rain. Great strokes of thunder shook the house to an unpredictable rhythm. The girl had to shut her window shortly after the storm's arrival, but she continued to watch in awe as it tore into her surroundings. Every time lightning struck worries about the house's safety tickled the back of her mind. On one such strike, however, she caught a glimpse of something moving amidst the trees. She focused on the same spot, and sure enough, on the next flash of light she spotted people running around in a clearing close to the backyard. More snapshots of observation showed that they were dancing. Out there? Now? She hadn't seen a single person (aside from the house's inhabitants) on a normal day! But she couldn't deny what she saw, even if it didn't make a modicum of sense. Less than an hour passed before the storm began to disperse, and the girl looked on in confusion as the mysterious people wandered off in all different directions, disappearing alongside the last rainclouds. She went to bed soon after, her mind racing itself into dreams about strangers twirling around in the rain. The next day the doctor declared her fever officially in remission. All the girl cared about was not taking foul medicines and getting to explore the yard again. This time she had a goal: discover evidence of the dancers. She pressed her luck by venturing into the clearing itself, but nothing turned up. No discarded items or footprints captured in the mud, no clear trails they could have followed, no broken branches or disturbed shrubbery aside from what the storm had tossed around. She wasn't confident in her tracking skills, but the girl felt that she should have seen something. Tired and more worried than she had any right to be, the girl went to bed that night and woke up to a perfectly sunny day, with no foul weather having disturbed the area while she slept. She visited the clearing one more time just to see more of the same. The rest of her day was spent inside with toys and other distractions, including a few small school-like lessons her mother gave her when she wasn't busy helping the doctor's wife around the house. By dinnertime the girl had resolved to summon the rain again once everyone else was asleep. Nothing could be settled until she properly observed the strange people, if they even showed up. After the last bedroom door closed she waited as long as she could before tiptoeing down to the study. A slip, turn, and shake later and she was hurrying to the back door, having decided earlier to get as close a look as possible. The calm before the storm whittled away at her confidence as she stood on the back porch, but her patience held, and the rain arrived soon enough. The girl quickly caught glimpses of the people through the trees, just far enough away that the details were obscured. She stepped out from under the cover of the roof. Droplets pounded down on her, dragging her hair and clothes toward the slippery grass, but she remained undeterred. Ten steps, twenty steps, forty steps later and she was peering around a trunk, transfixed by the sight before her. There were at least a dozen figures flashing about the clearing, limbs flying and clothes flapping in the wind. But even from this close the girl couldn't pick out the details of their appearances. Indistinct robes and shawls and skirts swirled around in shades of the surrounding greenery and sky, with hidden gems sparkling under the glare of lightning. Stranger still, none of the people had faces. Her eyes would trace their movements, following their arms— whatever odd skin color they were— up to their necks, and flowing hair, until her gaze should have met theirs— but didn't. The girl knew she should be more disturbed by this. Especially since it should have made them seem inhumanly expressionless— but didn't. She saw it in the way they leapt, joined hands and split apart, skipped and skittered across the clearing and back. Whatever it was they were doing, they were having an inordinate amount of fun doing it. One of the masculine figures landed terrifyingly close to the girl. Before he could jump back into the fray he paused, and— as inquisitively as a faceless, ever-shifting humanoid could— turned to look at her. She ducked behind the tree knowing it was too late. His footsteps fell gently as he moved around the tree, and the girl guiltily looked up to see the figure standing much closer than she was altogether comfortable with. They assessed each other silently for a moment. To her surprise, he lifted his hand not to grab her, but as an offer. Was he... inviting her into the clearing? With her curiosity blazing while raindrops and heartbeats alike drowned out her thoughts, she accepted. They started at the edge of the clearing. The stranger showed her a few different movements, attracting attention from a couple of other dancers. Together they gradually brought the girl into their dance, teaching her as they went, until they had formed a small circle that contributed to the overall performance. It was unlike anything the girl had seen, heard, or experienced before. The taste of the air seemed charged, different somehow from what it had been a few minutes ago. As they sped up and their circle moved to the center of the clearing, she felt it. Every clap of thunder, every gust of wind, swaying of trees, drop of rain— came from the dance. Whether they moved lazily or at a sprint, with light grace or brute strength, the storm was pulled along with them. There wasn’t so much a rhythm or pattern to the dance as there was simply an understanding: the strangers moved for the joy of it, and rain followed. Individuals filtered in and out of the circle one by one over time, the girl the only constant, an eye in the storm due to the circle’s more sedate pace. Clouds swirled ponderously overhead in acquiescence. What she knew could not have been more than tens of minutes felt like hours, but she did not tire. Nothing she’d ever done had left her so awake. It was cleansing, in a way; wind and rain sliced through her to the core, cold but not numbing. Eventually they drifted to a stop, and each stranger waved the girl goodbye as they disappeared into the trees, flickering forms receding with the storm. The girl walked back to her room, too stunned to worry over the soggy footprints she was tracking through the house. She toweled off in her room and flopped to bed. Sleep happened upon her deep and dreamless; the night she’d had was dreamlike enough. Two weeks ticked by. The girl bided her time on summoning the storm, only calling it twice, worried that someone might catch on (she also decided that running herself ragged should not be a nightly occurrence). At the end of the third week and fourth time dancing in the rain, she could tell each dancer apart from one another with ease and could almost keep up with their regular pace throughout the entire performance. She usually took a break towards the end, in part just to admire the dancers. Watching her new friends sling sheets of wind and water about the sky was as fun as helping them do it. The next day dawned chilly and mournful. The girl had woken up with her worst fever yet, eliciting more vain attempts from the doctor to rid her of it. Nothing brought relief from the insufferable heat. She drew strength from her memories of midnight rain, cold and furious as it was, hoping that the vividness of those lingering sensations might drive back her pain. Each day dragged on until a week had passed. The girl steadily grew weaker under the siege of her illness. Acquaintance after acquaintance of the doctor came by, none more knowledgeable than the last. No cure surfaced. All the girl could think about was rain; rain to wash the numbing fever away, to replace the tears her parents shed at her bedside. None fell. At ten days she knew she had to call them. Damp cloths placed on her forehead didn’t last, medicines upset her stomach or did nothing at all. No more doctors showed up at the door. She dragged herself out of bed late, having gathered as much energy as she could. Every step down the stairs and towards the study took more out of her limbs than she could give. When the girl finally reached the rain stick she couldn’t lift it. She had to lay it down on the floor before hefting the bottom end up, praying that it would be enough. The pebbles ran their race down the tube. She dragged it back into its corner. She hobbled out the back door, barely aware of it. Ten steps, twenty steps, fifty steps later and she slumped down in the clearing, panting and waiting. Time passed. Too much time, she thought. They should be here. They have to come soon. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Dancers started trickling into the clearing, worry etched into their figures once they saw the girl. A few started moving around enough to summon a drizzle. The girl relaxed at the coolness of the rain, standing up with the help of two dancers. Once again they swirled about the clearing, though not nearly so quickly as before, obviously in an attempt to accommodate her condition. Gratitude replaced her weariness as the rain took her fever away. Long before the storm's time ran out they stopped, having solved the immediate problem. The figures which she could no longer call strangers seemed to converse for a moment, caught in indecision, before one stepped forward. It was one of the most vivacious dancers, a feminine figure with silvery skin and hair wearing a flowing, midnight blue garment. The mute dancers quieted further still. With a gravitas previously unseen, the dancer pointed to the house. Confused, the girl turned to glance at the house, which was as she left it. She turned back and— oh. The dancer had extended a hand out to her. No voice had sounded, but the girl knew. Choose. As they stood there the girl could feel what strength had been granted to her fading. It didn't take much thought to figure out that this was, all in all, temporary. Calling more storms every night might extend her time, but it would still run out. She looked back at the house. Her parents... didn't know about this. They wouldn't know. She was sure they would disapprove... but the alternative was as it had been. Them, standing nearby worriedly, waiting for a miracle to come along. Watching her slip away slowly. If she left, maybe she might see them again from afar. Even if they didn't see her, maybe it would be enough. The girl couldn't help it. She cried. She didn't want to go either way. She didn't want to leave her parents while they watched or without their knowledge— she didn’t want to leave at all! Every part of her hurt when she was sick, yet somehow everything hurt now, too, when she had the chance to get better. The dancer set a hand on her shoulder, and the girl hugged the dancer in response, shifting cloth brushing against her tear stained cheeks. The dancer gently tried to comfort her, and after a few minutes the girl mustered the courage to let go. The dancer's head tilted in question. The girl looked back at the house one more time, hoping, praying that her parents might understand, and feel better soon. She turned to the dancer. Her heart beat as loud as it did the first time she faced such an invitation. Taking a deep breath, she nodded, and tentatively took the proffered hand. Blades of grass whipped and waved under her feet as she and the dancers walked into the forest together. Fallen raindrops twinkled like stars throughout the canopy, while the wind sent whispers curling through its boughs, velvety darkness trailing in its wake. What storm clouds remained melted away silently under the moonlight.