It was drizzling. Her parents said that it was raining, but that was not the state of things as it was seen by most of those who were younger than 30. Because drizzling rain was the kind of rain that allowed them to play ball without outright drowning in mud.

Thus, it was merely drizzling.

This point was rather important to a child of 6.

Since if one categorized all rain as rain then she had never seen any other type of weather, like most other kids. Her granny often told them stories about the sunshine of her youth, but none of the kids really understood what she was talking about. Thus it didn't really matter. It was kind of like the stories about mages that had been spreading with the traveling merchants.

Either way, since it was merely drizzling, one little girl with honey coloured skin and bluish black hair or, as her sister insisted, a blue so dark it appeared black, took off her fuzzy socks, slipped into her clogs and ran outside. She had friends to meet and games to play.

Her mother, she noticed, was apparently busy weaving as usual judging by the clicking and clicking coming from the workshop, so there was no one to force her to go and do chores when she was just about to go play. Whistling, her wooden clogs splashing in the mud, she raced towards the big field.