What a blessing -- The rain always soothed him; The cooler air, the wet in his hair and the rhythm of the pitter patter in the dirt always leveled the marksman. It seemed that when he was at the worst, questioning his faith the most, the rain would start, as if to sooth his mind and keep him on the path.
He hands his face back, letting the rain fall over and cover him in it’s cool embrace. His mouth hangs over in a mild ectasy, and he drags his hands from his forehead to his jaw. These little comforts were few and far between, and he had learned to appreciate them to their fullest.