The land was barren, the sky was black, yet Ayla skipped ahead, bending over to pick up a rock here, stopping to point at a black cumulonimbus there; all the while humming a song that he didn't remember singing to her at bedtime. Was it a song her mother had taught her? She brushed her brown curls away from her face every few minutes, and did so the way she would wipe water off her face, with flat hands, unlike her sister who had taken to rearranging the stray strands with her fingertips and always tucked them neatly behind her ears.

He felt a heavy drop land on the top of his head and roll towards his neck. Another one splashed on his shoulder and seeped through the fabric. The clouds were menacing, but they also glided by so fast that the sun would shine again before they could make it back to the car. He looked left and right for a nook or tree to use as cover, then was seized by panic: he squeezed his eyes to try and make out the shape of his car in the distance, turning on himself several times. Deep breaths, he thought. We didn't walk that far, I'm sure we came from...

"Uncle Ben!" Ayla called out. He spun again to see the little girl crouching, hands on her knees. Drops fell harder, the wet circles scattered on the back of her t-shirt growing closer together.

"Don't touch anything!" he said in alarm. With the car nowhere to be seen, the storm coming and the knowledge that they had driven an hour without seeing a living soul before even parking the car, he suddenly reeled with worry that the four year old might get bitten by a scorpion or a snake and he wouldn't be able to get help in time. He strode to close the distance between Ayla and himself, and saw that she was perched over a little hole in the ground.

"I saw a little head," she whispered, her eyes shining.

"Might be a desert squirrel," he said. He crouched next to her and they peered into the hole. The rain drummed on them now, and Ben stole glances at Ayla's flattening curls, at her focused gaze. He wanted to put his arms around her, hold her tight, but knew she would push him away, as she had before. He had to let her come to him, or not, as she wished.

"Is he dead?" she asked without looking up.

"The squirrel? Probably not. I bet he’s hiding because he's scared by big creatures like us. They make their homes in the ground you know?"

"Is mom hiding too? Did she make a new home in the ground?"

The tightening in his chest and throat stopped him from answering immediately. Ayla looked up at him, but he couldn't tell what her cheeks were wet from.

"No," he replied shaking his head. "Your mom wouldn't hide from you."