Within five minutes the interior of the balsam shelter was a shower bath.

After half an hour of that torrential downpour, Nepeese was soaked to the skin.

The water ran in little rivulets down her body.

It trickled in tiny streams from her drenched braids and dropped from her long lashes, and the blanket under her became wet as a mop.

To Baree it was almost as bad as his near-drowning in the stream after his fight with Papayuchisew, and he snuggled closer and closer under the sheltering arm of the Willow.
It seemed an interminable time before the thunder rolled far to the east, and the lightning died away into distant and intermittent flashings.