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Down came the raindrops

An answer to an LJ community challenge, subject, "rain". I'm not sure if a non-British audience will be familiar with the original story, but I like it.
“fandom”: alternate history
Word count: 249

It was cold and wet, even inside the shelter of the cave. The rain got in everywhere, dripping from the roof, trickling down the slimy walls. He had attempted to light a fire, but the tinder was damp, and the sparks from his steel died into nothing. Failure again. Instead, he had shivered through the long night, stomach cramping with hunger, back cramping with cold. With the first light, he watched the valley below for movement, and closer, watched as a spider tried to repair a web that the rain was tearing apart. There was nothing else to do, and he did not want to think further.

A man was walking up the stream bank, plodding slowly, wearily. He knew him, knew what he would call up to the cave entrance.

“Is the Bruce within?”

He did not want to answer, to admit to it, but: “Aye.”

A dark shape silhouetted against the grey sky as the newcomer entered, stood there over him, cloak dripping. “A miserable day.”

“Aye.” There was nothing more to say, or too much.

“So, Robert, are we going back? Is it worth trying again?”

They would do it, he knew, if he asked them. Again, and again, losing more men each time. He stared at the ground, at the trickle of water that ran from the cave, almost ashamed to be the object of their loyalty. The dead, water-logged spider floated past, and was gone, down the hill, into oblivion.

“No. Enough is enough.”

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