The roar of the mountain's purge faded slowly, not with a sudden silence, but with a long, sighing diminuendo that lasted through the night. The column of fire and steam that had torn into the heavens softened into a vast, glowing plume, lit from within by the rising sun. It spread across the sky like a benevolent phantom, a great veil of purified water vapor that began to fall as the gentlest of warm rains.
The rain washed the ash and the acrid taste of fear from the air. It pattered on the leaves of the forest, washing away the gray death that had touched the canopy, revealing the resilient green beneath. It fell on the faces of the people huddled on the ridge, and they tilted their heads back, letting it cleanse them. It was not the poison-tainted drizzle of before; it was clean, sweet, and life-giving.
