Monday, December 28, 2009
At six years old, Lucy was sufficiently well versed in American culture to make snow angels against her father's wished (he worried about the dirt on her clothes). She made them all around the house until, when Harold looked out of his study window and noticed, it gave him the creeps. "It's like be surrounded by the buggers," he said to Julie, who remembered all too well the night when the archangel Sariel tried to destroy them all with Holy fire.
"I could tell her to stop," she said. "Or ask Jasfoup to melt them away."
"No." Harold shook away his fears and smiled. "Let the child play."