He clung to the large boulder, his young body pressed tightly along the base, his fingers clawed into the crevices, and his legs tried desperately to escape the onslaught of flying rock, sand, and ash, that stung like a thousand wasps.
He could barely breathe. His light, almost twelve year old body allowed him to find a crevice partially protected on the side of the rock. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to will his courage. Then a jagged rock hit his thigh and he felt warm blood run down his leg. His eyes filled, and he heard his own voice crying out against the thunder. “CHADAL! CHADAL!” (Stop! Stop!). A desperate plea from a frightened boy to a God or gods, (he knew not which).
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