They say, you can predict weather. They say you can predict other things, based on weather.
Those, who master it all, no longer care for predictions. They enact, force upon.

Pierced by the storm, they stare into the sky for too long, until their frame is so light as to be supported by wind in the sails of tapestry with their prophecies, worn as a clothing.
That is before they themselves eventually dissolve in the clouds, becoming one with what they had recently struggled to subdue.

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