Stroll in a Storm
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Mood: Rain patters against the old cobblestone road as the traveler hurries through the narrow streets of Edinburgh. Ahead a pub sign promises shelter, warmth, and company.
Smells like: Lightning crossing a dark, rainy sky and fresh wind driving the clouds over a faint breath of dampened woods.
Scent Strength: Medium
"Petrichor! Fresh thunder air!" -Tara
With a peal of thunder, the clouds burst over the narrow cobblestone streets. Raindrops hammer the rooftops as pedestrians scramble for cover. One man strides through it all, leather boots splashing in the swiftly forming puddles, not so much as an umbrella in his hand.
The driving rain washes away the gathered smoke and soot of daily living. It feels the gutters and pours down upon the passersby. People hurry home with newspapers and shawls held over their heads.
The man approaches a doorway under an ancient hand painted sign. Inside is light and laughter, food and good company. He enters, pausing for a moment for one last breath of rain-drenched air and to admire the rhythm of droplets on awnings.
Inside folks drink, dine, and converse. Two sit deep in concentration over a game of chess while a musician tunes his fiddle in the corner. The man takes a seat and soaks it all in, his damp clothes slowly beginning to dry.
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