Then I felt a chill in my bones, and just as soon, it seemed, the echoes of distant rain came to my ear. My head turned toward the north, and I gazed down the ancient path. Nearing, the pitch of the droning grew. Now I could see it coming, filling the valley like a wave, a blanket of water falling over everything, darkening the statues, making their worn surfaces glisten like glass. No roof sheltered these dead stones made in likeness to dead kings; they met the storm like vagabonds, helpless and homeless. I scurried to my tent for warmth.
The Way of the Dead Gods
Tale Told 