He worked on autopilot as he got the bread into the oven- making it was comforting, it was routine, even if today was a Tuesday instead of the usual Friday baking session that lasted him through to the next weekend. When he shut the door of his oven, it still wasn’t raining yet, but he could feel how thick and heavy the air near his window was. He didn’t have any sheets hanging to dry, and other than the window in the kitchen, everything was shuttered up well, so he dragged one of the mismatched kitchen chairs from the round table near the back of the room towards the open window, sitting back enough that if the wind blew the rain into the house, he wouldn’t get too soaked. It was almost ritual at that point, setting the chair down to watch the rain- no matter what he was doing, when it began to storm, he wanted to be there to see it.

There was energy in a storm. There was energy in most things, but during a storm, when it rained, he could feel it prickling into his skin like a million tiny threads. The leaves of the trees that bordered the field like a gauntlet of overreaching wood whipped white in the gust of wind, and when that wind found its way through his open window, Algae closed his eyes and leaned into it.

It was like flying, just for a moment, and then the breeze died down again. The curtains were still fluttering when he opened his eyes again, faded floral print casting pink and blue shadows on the floor where the light was still strong enough in the face of the clouds to cast shadow at all. Off in the distance, he could hear a branch fall, thudding, and when he stuck his face a little further out the window he could see where it had embedded itself into the earth like a sapling in it’s own right. If it weren’t for the slight forward cast, he might have even thought it was.

“Wonder if it could grow roots.” He mumbled, finally leaning forwards properly so that he could lean his head out the window. The overhang of the roof kept him dry while the wind wasn’t blowing.

If his nose hadn’t been full of the smell of rain and wet earth, he knew he’d be smelling the bread by now. That was fine. The smell of bread was nice, but he could make bread whenever he wanted. He couldn’t make rain on his kitchen counter. He let his head come down to rest on his folded arms, still half out the window, but when he sat up again the sky was dark and the rain had long since stopped.

He must have fallen asleep- he’d never fallen asleep during a storm like that. A spot low on his neck, almost at his shoulder, ached when he rolled it out like he’d been sleeping on that arm for hours, pins and needles. It couldn’t have been-

The bread. Xxxx. He stood so fast that the wooden chair went clattering to the floor behind him, expecting to turn and see a kitchen full of smoke. Instead, the oven was turned off, and nothing smelled seriously burnt. He chalked it up to sleepwalking, retrieving the loaf from where it had miraculously not turned to a lump of glowing ash in the pan. It wasn’t his nicest loaf of bread, but it was good enough to extend as a housewarming gift, if his new neighbor could have it. He dropped it out onto the counter, cooled completely, and wrapped it in a square of parchment paper he’d cut and left under the chopping board earlier in the afternoon. Tied with a nice ribbon, and it would make a charming gift.

It was a cold day. Not unseasonably so, not for as far into Autumn as it was, golden leaves sending showers of crunchy color down every time the wind rustled through them. Her paw was still holding her place in her book when her attention snapped back to the pressing issue at hand.

A happy, cheery voice and the unmistakable smell of cinnamon and pasty. Alicyia was bustling through from the kitchen with a large plate piled high with double swirled little pinwheels, sticky enough with glaze- she was sure, knowing her sister- that she would have to take a real break from her attempts at barely reading. What a shame. She afforded her sister a small, hopefully-grateful smile as she stood, leaving the perceived security of some well worn blanket behind.