The deluge that poured through the night finally ceased at dawn. Blinking his dry eyes, Riftan washed his face with the rainwater he had collected in a trough. The shack had creaked and groaned in the relentless, blustering wind, and even the roof had begun to leak. It had all made for a horrendous night.
The next morning, the sky was clear as if the storm had been but a dream. Riftan gazed up at it as he dried his face with his tattered sleeve. Despite his stepfather's intermittent patch-ups of the shack since spring, the ramshackle structure was too old to be anything but a hellhole during the rainy season. It was likely that they would have to do additional repairs before Paxias (the season of repose, equivalent to winter) arrived.
As he wondered how much it would cost to purchase all the wood they would need, a gruff voice came from behind.
"Why're you sitting on your backside, boy? The work ain't going to do itself!"