There was a connection between the way Melanie's mother had died and the strange way she was acting now.

If he could only retrace the events that led to her mother's death he might still be able to save Melanie.

But how does one decipher the symbolic nature of a cerebral hemorrhage? The very thought itself was a contradiction in terms.

To try and understand the why behind a person's death was tantamount to playing God. But the future of his daughter was at stake.

He watched her walk from the porch where he sat eating his breakfast and make her way over to the stables.

The farm hands were waving to her and in general giving her a warm greeting. But Melanie only gave the merest hint of a smile.

Her loose fitting blouse and jeans waved in the cool breeze that swept over a busy farm that was beginning to heat up with the days activities.

Men were working hard mending fences and hauling stacks of hay across the dusty red clay swirling up from the cool breeze.

His foreman, Mullady Mistler, was helping her to saddle up her Lightning and pack her leather pouch with carrots.

He watched her fine figure mount the charcoal-gray stallion and then nuzzle herself around the soft saddle atop the horse's back.

She bent over its long blond mane and he could see the wisps of her own dirty blond hair intermingle with the horse's. She whispered something in its ear. Then there was a momentary delay after she gave her order and she straightened herself up on the saddle. The birds stopped their chirping song. All the men's eyes were glued on the scene of the girl and horse poised for action.

Then like a crack of thunder. Lightning took off and bolted in the direction of the scenic hills that framed the horizon.

It was an inspiring spectacle to watch them fleeing into the sun-drenched valley at such a fierce and charging velocity.