â˝ - a memory of their father
âAmah! Abba!â Alannaâs voice, pitched high with the light timbre of a four-year-old, was pitched higher with fear. The girl had woken, alone, in the dark of her familyâs tent, from a nightmare. It wasnât long before a pair of strong arms swept her from her little nest of pillows and rugs and cradled her close to a warm chest.
âHush, âLanna, hush, alilun jawaher,â Cassimâs deep voice rumbled softly against her ear. âIt was just a dream. Iâm here, Abbaâs here.â
Alanna trembled in his arms, pressing her face against her fatherâs sleeve and breathing in the fresh, woodsy scent of frankincense mixed with the earthy, spicy smell of indica on his clothes. He was always there to comfort her when she had a nightmare or hurt herself, just as often as her mother Marjana. Enveloped in Cassimâs warmth and scent, the little girl easily slipped back into slumber.