"pops, pops I'm scared I don't like thunder, I don't like lightning! Make it stop pops, make
the lighting stop" I remember hearing the little footsteps patter through the metal halls of home and the minute the door flew open she ran right to me and as she clung to my legs she was soaking wet, with her hair clinging to her head, the pigtails long since gone. It was clear she had been outside when the storm began, which to her was the worst thing that could have happened. The shock caused her to cry from the first boom of thunder and now she absolutely wailing her arms wrapped around my knees. it was the first time I realized how small she really was. How innocent in her childish fears of a
lightning storm. And when I picked her up into my lap her small 7 year old frame clung to me with more strength then a child of her stature should posses. I tried to calm her down, because no father wants to hear their little girl cry. I carried her through home to her room. A thunder storm was a rare event in the desert, and since the incident at the oasis with her brother every flash replayed in her mind the flash of the spell that hit her. when I reached her room I got her into a warm dry nightgown and lead her to her bed. I tried to let go of her hand but she wouldn't let me, instead she leapt into my arms and clung to me her wails starting up again Her fingers clung to tight around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder so all I could do was sit on the bed and try to ease her to sleep. And as I talked I felt her fingers loosened, and heard her sobs turned to silence and she lay finally asleep in my arms. As I wiped the fresh tears from her eyes I tucked her into the bed and it was then I saw in her petite face how much she reminded me of her mother.