Children becoming more alone, cry more often at night. Soldiers stop them more, neighbours jeer and spit. Friends, more cautious, at night give them food, getting scarcer.
Dark clouds of summer storm, rain, wind and fear. Arrow’s blood courses cold, shelters more, deeper, in her nest. Her neighbours long moved off as train rails shook their homes. Foreboding, not a fear of the forest where all kill to live and live to kill as a necessity continuing nature’s circle.
Arrow senses something more. Rain pounds her body her wings thrust her forwards, progresses slowly her mission. Lightening tears the sky apart. Rain cuts through the forest, the land, slashing sheets pound on trains whose lamps illuminate the wet sheen of rail steel.
Past sheltering animals she flew, over swollen streams, alone, brave, cold.
Bundled rags, bound together, shouting soldiers, long coats, rain dripping from helmets, guns covered as protection from the elemental force of nature’s anger.
Pushed, herded, moved into a throng, along the wide rutted and deep pooled tracks between fenced off houses, searching for James and Ruth, Maria and Paul. Skin wet, feet sodden and cut frozen cold, rain, non-stop, in their town for the very last time.