Work Text:
***
He blinks slowly, sniffs the breeze washing over him. Is it Nisan already? It must be. There's something in the air, a hum that makes the birds chirp and the rabbits frolic. The sun has strength already, urging buds to sprout in the most impossible places: their lust for life will not be gainsaid.
Leave it to Jeshua to pick that sweetest time of year to die.
It angers him. Zephyrus should bring balmy nights and dewy mornings, not the carrion stench of Golgatha. Not the howl of Jeshua, presently dying on the cross.
Way to fuck up his spring.
***
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