Work Text:
Shmi doesn't always listen when the wind whispers. It tells her the truth but Shmi doesn't always pick the right path. Sometimes it's easier to pretend she can't hear it at all.
This time the wind is sharp with warning. Sand stings her cheeks, whips her ankles and urges her into the house. She has half a mind to get a shemagh and continue her walk to the vaporators--she's been in sandstorms worse than this.
But Shmi knows she's being contrary. They've mushrooms aplenty in the kitchen and any that popped up overnight will still be there this afternoon.