The moment the carriage stopped, Eric didn't wait for Mr. Rye to open the door. He threw it open himself and raced out towards the inn, his heart pounding with a singular, desperate purpose: find Delia.
Just as he left the shelter of the carriage, the heavens opened up. The rain started, not as a gentle drizzle, but as a sudden, violent downpour that instantly soaked his coat and plastered his hair to his head. He was just a few feet from the warm, dry light of the inn's entrance, but he couldn't move. He froze, his feet suddenly as heavy as lead.
The world around him seemed to sharpen, to transform. He could smell the damp earth turning to mud beneath his feet. He could smell the thick, familiar scent of hay from the nearby stables. He could hear the nervous stomping and whinnying of horses unsettled by the storm. Each sensation was a key, unlocking a dark room in his memory he had kept sealed for years.