He ran his fingers through my arm, caressing them tenderly, his very own skin... on me. He stopped at where I had burnt myself recently and circled the healing wound with his fingers. He drew a long sigh, as if he was singed too. A little later, he seemed to struggle with the weight of my legs on him.
I remember a moment from our childhood, when I and my sister tried to lift papa by his arms. We might have been really young because it felt like moving a mountain...and we were happy that our dad was like a mountain. Unshakable and towering!
Early in the morning, before getting ready to take a fight back to town, I laid down next to him and wrapped my arms and legs around him. The flu had run him down. He was tired and barely speaking.
Our lion was unwell.
I gently moved my legs off him. And I could feel him breathe easier.
It is just a flu, my mind told me, but my heart would not stop crying. I felt like all Sons and Daughters everywhere...I could see the future and I could see the slow vanishing of light into the ever winding tunnels of time.