A flame, lighting the night.

Loud shouts-- shouts of anger and terror.

Smoke, acrid smoke cut through the lungs of the woman as she ducked through her burning house, quietly cursing the rebels who’d just lit her house on fire.

In her arms she held a young boy, his face blank and confused. She struggled with his weight-- it was none too easy to carry a seven-year-old child through a burning house.

The child in her arms coughed roughly; she knew he’d inhaled too much smoke, and his head dropped tiredly on her shoulders. She heard his breathing deepen, and she hoped he’d stay unconscious-- easier to move quietly.

The two burst out of the house, the mother panting with effort as she dashed toward the stream not far out of the village. She swore as she stumbled over a stone, almost dropping the boy. She cursed again as he stirred, and reluctantly slowed down to check for pursuers.

There was no one. The woman’s pace slowed even more, breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the stream. She heaved the boy off her shoulders, her entire body shaking with exhaustion. She turned back to look at the village, and her son turned with her.

Their whole town was in flames-- in flames because the rebels knew that some soldiers of the government lived here. Their barracks shone bright with flames, but burning just as fiercely were the houses of the traders and the cooks.

The woman glared at the smoke and ashes that used to be her home. “Damn you, rebels,” she muttered. “What did we ever do to you?”

Her arm reached out and enveloped the young child, her breathing becoming more jagged as she fought to keep the tears from falling. Her resolve failed, however, when the child hugged her back.

A tear rolled down her face, cutting through the ashes coating her face and landing on the boy’s shoulder. He looked up at her curiously, though he didn’t cry himself. He was too young to understand what was happening, but old enough to understand silence was needed.

Instead, he offered silent comfort to his mother, hugging her tightly and listening silently to her sobs.

“Why, spirits? First my husband...and now my home.”

The child clung to her shoulder, finally letting his own silent tears fall with his mother’s. The two crumpled by the river, safe and far from the danger.

Back at the village, the fire still burned.