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 There was a flash, like a flash of lightning, and the rock opened and made a passage for them.

The maiden led the way, and the youth followed; and when they had passed through the rock, they came into a strange country—to the home of the Thunder Maiden. The floors and walls were of clouds, and the clouds were of every shade, from silver gray to the deepest purple black. They were soft to walk upon, and smooth as the smoothest velvet. And their changing shades were more wonderful than any artist could paint.

The maiden's robes were of trailing silver, and her hair was black as midnight.

She led the youth to her father, who sat upon a throne formed from the deepest purple clouds. His hair and beard were white like the mists that float across the sky. But his robe was black, with here and there a dash of brilliant gold.

"Welcome, my son," said the old man. "Have you come to dwell among us?"

The youth looked at the beautiful maiden, and he answered, "Yes, my father."

So he became one of the Thunder People.