The Four Kindred: The Leader, The Protector, Mother Hen and The Opportunist- Part 2

The Protector- Railene daughter of Christian

World of Warcraft- Pintrest

Galloping across the terrain, wind rustling through her hair and sweat pouring down the brow, the battle is on. Too long has the enemy roamed this land, there must be liberty. Her horses’ knees begin to buckle and crack, pain tears through it’s calves and thighs as the strain of the knight weighs him down. How much longer can he keep up such strong pace? The rider demands more, one more patrol through the hard terrain. Suddenly the horse collapses under the weight of the rider, as a sharp object lodges itself in his knee.

“Oh my gosh Railene, my knee….”

“Come on horsey, one more time around the room.”

“Railene, I just stabbed my leg with a block…”

No mercy from the rider as she digs her heels in the “dad bod hip padding” ( aka body fat). With one last breath I give me best neigh and try to go as fast as my indented knees could give me. Alas to no avail, the horse crumbles yet again.

“Dad…..” Railene lets out a high pitch whine (which could land her in a movie) and dismounts the horses’ back, proceeding strait to the pantry for a well deserved granola bar. Meanwhile with my legs buckled and knees cracked I lay on the stained floor as I watch in the distance my little girl munching away.

Precious. Funny. Ruthless jockey. What a girl.

Railene is the second oldest of our children, but you would think by the way she acts sometimes that she’s the oldest. The Protector. Often the most thoughtful one in our family. I can not count the number of times she just wrapped her arms around my neck and said, “I love you Dad.” No asking, no prompting, just spontaneous expressions of love.

The name Railene means, “Counsellor, Protector.” A fitting name for a daughter who rushes to the aid of a fellow sibling in need. Isaac (often the ‘damsel’ in distress) requires frequent rescuing, and Railene is there. Ava can’t find a shoe, Railene is there. Benaiah using the bathroom and requests a story to help him “use” better, at the far end of the bathroom Railene stands, telling stories that would make Tolkien scratch his head in wonder.

Railene and myself

Last month Benaiah, Railene and I went on a journey through the woods behind our house. With towering hills and a dense forest it can be daunting in the winter; however Aragon and his two Hobbits made the trek. As we weaved our way through the trees, following trails no bigger than a couple of feet across, we finally arrived at the bottom of a huge hill. At first I thought we could make it up as I watched my kin easily walk on top of the snow. However, judging my ability to walk on snow based on my children’s success was a er in judgement. As I started walking up the slope I began to sink past my ankles.

“Come on Christian, he-man it through for your kids,” I thought to myself.

Then it happened. Both feet sunk into the snow and I went up to my hips, with my left foot lodging between a rock and another rock. Great. Not only am I stuck in the snow but I am about 800ft from my house.

Railene to the rescue.

“Dad, you stuck in the snow?”

“Yes Railene, I am stuck in the snow. Can you go get your small shovel, the red one?”

“You mean the one in the backyard?”


“The blue Paw Patrol shovel?”

“No. The red one dear.”

She turned and started walking towards the house, one tiny stride at a time.

“I’ll be right back daddy. I got dis.”

What seemed like hours, Railene finally reached the shovel only to be fought by Benaiah. If you have watched Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, picture Frodo getting ready to drop the Ring into Mt. Doom, then Gollum hopping onto his back. Thankfully Benaiah didn’t bite off Railene’s finger, however with all the screaming you’d believe he had. Sigh. As I listened to the screaming in the distance, I tried to bellow out my displeasure however due to my body freezing my voice sounded pretty lame. I watched as she the wrenched the shovel from his hand and started to run through the snow towards my location. Quite comical if you imagine a three year old running through snow with a bright red shovel; like a scene from Braveheart, with the Scots charging down the hill to fight the British. The Protector. Using the shovel I freed myself and we had a well deserved Hot Chocolate back in the house.

Whether I am stuck in a snowbank or in need of a hug, I can always depend on my little girl to be there for me.


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