reflection

If Foresight had one distinct disadvantage, it was that it truly only impacted the sense of sight, and when Mythra was curled up in a simultaneously too-hard and too-soft bed in the inn, pillow jammed over both ears as tight as she could get it and eyes squinched shut, she had no way of knowing when the next rumble of thunder was coming.

Haze didn't mind these types of atmospheric creepy-crawlies, and neither did Azzar, who by rights should be well spooked. Of course it irritated Mythra that she couldn't just lie there, arms stiff, and roll the rolling thunder right off her shoulder, but it was what it was. This, she hated.

"I don't understand why everybody gets so jazzed about seeing the rainbow," she groused to Ixchel the following morning, in between impatient swipes of her gloves over her eyes to chase the lingering mist away. "It's just light."

"Separated into all its colors? I'm sure there are greater miracles, but not all of us have the divine ability to coalesce those colors together into brilliant white. Some of us are even more childlike than you."

Yeah, right, Mythra wanted to say, thinking of her private shame at shrinking from the echo of lightning strikes, but somehow it didn't seem right.

Ixchel peered up into the sky with an unreadable expression, aer breath impossibly steady.

"Those are only the primary bands. There are many more colors in between. Indeed, this may be our only chance to see them."