It was raining.
Looking up through the downpour, Crousader could almost see the gates of heaven amid the falling drops; barred against his wandering mortal eye by the slate grey clouds. Slowly he closed his eyes and lowered his head, welcoming the familiar chill of his helm as it slid back to it's accustomed place.
Funny how even the things he hated became a part of him, like his armor; the biting metal bar...
Family.
Heaving a sigh the white wind shook out his heavy coat and flexed his wide wings; fluttering them gently depsite the rain; trying to settle his mind back into the closed and disdainful set it had been in before he had met those of Islagiatt. But that cold, hard place was a distant and unwelcome memory; and best left in his memories.
