![Image](http://i52.photobucket.com/albums/g3/Baals_Baby/Lucain/LucainMaleTsukiya4.gif)
Frédéric François
The sweet scent of the fresh, clean air after a summer rain overtook the senses. Fresh fruits, heavy, ripe, and dripping with rain that clung to its skin, lay safely on their vines and branches in the trees overhead, and leaves, once dancing in the stormy wind, had come to a rest on the forest floor below, leaving their imprints in the now muddy paths.
The trail was strewn with evidence of other life in the forest; pawprints, footprints, and the occasional mark of a bird having been there, touching to earth before flitting back up into the skies to continue their flight. And now, careful not to get too much mud on his fur, Frédéric François eagerly looked around for some sort of pond where he could clean the mud away from himself.
He stepped daintily, leaving slight imprints in the wet dirt behind him as he went. The storm had been fascinating, and he'd been looking for new inspiration to write another piece for his father. What better inspiration for someone so tantalized by a storm... than a storm?
"Oh, I hate the mud, I hate the mud..." he muttered, wondering what had drawn him outside? Ah, yes, the prelude. The calm after the storm was similar to the calm before, wasn't it? And what better prelude to a storm than the calm?
"Why does my soul draw me out to the mud? I should have just asked Aleit to pick me some plants and things from the garden to use as inspiration." He grumbled, unaware that the forest may have held life yet.