Raw

They have come to a stop. He says something to the others, but it's of little importance. She glances up from her hands. He is looking at her in the rearview mirror. She knows that someone of his caliber doesn't merely glimpse about. She looks out the window and is surprised at how dark it's become. She doesn't know what time it is, but she is suddenly very alive. The others are tired now, as usual. She doesn't understand how some could sleep, while others revel in the world of awakeness. She wonders slightly about this as she carefully opens the old car door and steps out.
She is anxious now. The ground is wet and soaks through her black sketchers. She likes the feel of sudden changes like that and, unlike others, savors it. He has disappeared through the thin black trees. She sprints up the hill, sliding on the leaves occasionally.
This is a race. She knows he wants her to be there, to find him. She slows down as the hill gets steeper. The moon peeks from behind the trees as she approaches the bald spot atop the hill. He stands there, just a silhouette at first, yet deceiving, for she knows his presence is most magnificent. At any moment, she thinks, he might howl at the mighty moon. He is definitely unpredictable, but she is being silly. She almost laughs out loud.
He is sad. He is raging inside. He is a flood, and she, the rain. They are out of breath and panting. Nonchalant, but eyes never lie. Not theirs.