Papa stirred in the candlelight, opening his eyes. "Oh, Samantha," he murmured, his smile weak. "You're as pretty as your mother." She shook her head. Her body was covered with dust, her hair windblown, her nose burnt from the sun. And she was tired to her core. "I'm not pretty, Papa." "Yes, you are." Papa reached for her hand, squeezed it. "And you are strong-much stronger than your mama, and stronger than me.
( Melanie Dobson )
[ Where the Trail Ends: The ]
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