Her pen was in the midst of scrawling another word out when there was a voice. For a moment, she might have believed it to be Luke, simply because she had become so engrossed in thought, until her eyes flickered over the top of her journal and found that they were not alone. It was at this moment that every thought--and there were many of them, swirling about--came to an absolutely rigid halt.
Everything went blank. Thought. Sound. The ability to hold her pen, and it fell with metallic 'thud' onto the table where Alana and her nephew had been playing cards. From old memories, she might have believed the man standing in the doorway was her father, rugged in such a way that came not from years of farm work but another lifestyle entirely. But in her heart, she recognized him instantly.
Sharply, she gasped, because she had stopped breathing at the shock of the sight. Brannon. There one moment and then quite suddenly blurred. Her big brown eyes, much like her mother's, welled over with tears. Shaking, her voice stammered, "...Brannon?!"
Suddenly, Alana sprang from the chair and crossed the room in two bounds. Her brother hardly had the chance to brace himself for one-hundred and twenty-five pounds of love and tears come barreling into him. The grip of Alana was so tight, they staggered but stayed up. Their faces pressed cheek to cheek as she wrapped her arms about him for the strongest hug she ever gave; Brannon's cheek felt so cool against her own, which was quickly wet and hot from tears.
The dam had let loose. Alana was absolutely sobbing and holding onto Brannon for dear life. To have had such a loss only so recently and to have him walk through the door--it was an immeasurable amount of emotion but certainly too much to be held back. She wept for sadness, she wept for joy, but most importantly she wept because Brannon was here, and even just for a moment, she did not have to be the strongest one in the room. In her eyes, no one was stronger than Brannon.