““He ignored her, still catching rain in his withered hands. “The mortal life is as futile as a raindrop.” He shook his head wearily. “Beginning in splendor and comfort, surrounded by a thousand others like itself, by the walls of the cloud. So like the walls of the womb.” He paused to contemplate. “But things concealed must at length be revealed. The womb of all things becomes too crowded; the cloud becomes too weighted. And a raindrop is shoved away, dismissed as useless, forgotten. Its beauty fades, turned grey by the trauma of birth. And then. . . then, Shiloh, the inevitable fall begins. Alone, the raindrop falls, surrounded by other outcasts, yes, but still so alone. And alone, the soul falls, cold. Mortals are so cold, Shiloh. Cold and dead inside their cocoons of imagined warmth.” Again, he stopped, watching the water fall. “Some fall for only a short time. Some fall for years.” He was talking solely of souls now, forgetting the raindrops. “But all fall. In time, all fall. And what comes at the end of the fall, Shiloh? What then?” She watched the drops pelt the ground. “They die and fade away.””
