Pomona Sheldon had been crushed.
She was wailing with an intensity that suggested her very soul was being torn asunder. Three seconds earlier, she had been a defiant warrior, the "Iron Pomegranate" standing her ground. Now, after one sudden escalation, the fire had been extinguished by a flood of tears, leaving only a pitiful, heart-wrenching sob.
She stood by the lucky bamboo display in the hall, her small face tilted upward toward the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut as tears tracked through the dust on her cheeks.
Roland Rowan had given her a full body-slam. In the heat of their argument about who should eat what, the five-year-old had lost his temper and simply bowled her over. To Pomona, who was only three-and-a-half, it felt like the end of the world. She was convinced she was mortally
