Boro and Sata poked through the smoldering ruins of the mill. Toli followed, sometimes silently, sometimes complaining about the lingering smoke, or about his empty stomach.
Boro stopped and slowly looked around, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun. Green trees still stood near the clearing on the west, north, and south. “The wind is steady off the ocean. There’s no way the fire could have gotten here. It had to start here.”
Sata nodded. “And with this wind, it didn’t take long to get to Lumber Town.”
Just then, a quiet whimpering sound made Sata cock her head. She glanced at Toli, but he was silently sitting on a rock rubbing his eyes. “There’s someone else here,” she said, moving toward the trees on the south side of the clearing.
The sound came and went, but after a few minutes of looking and listening, Sata began to pick her way over logs and branches toward a cluster of boulders not far into the unburned trees. Boro followed closely, and Toli dragged himself along, coughing. Sata scrambled up the first boulder and looked down.
The girl of four or five years screamed with fear for a second, then changed her mind and reached up, crying with relief and letting Sata pull her up and embrace her.
The four sat together in the woods as the little girl, still in Sata’s arms, wordlessly poured out her grief. The ash smudges and tear stains on her face told her story well. When she eventually ran out of tears, Boro told of their own flight from the inn. Toli found a little dried fruit in his pack and passed it out.
The girl did not try to speak, but eventually started looking toward the clearing where the mill had been. Boro offered to let her ride on his shoulders, and after a moment of hesitation, she put her arms up to accept.
With sad eyes, she gazed at the burned building, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. Whenever Boro or Sata suggested they look elsewhere for her family, she shook her head.
As mid-day passed and no clues about the girl’s family came to light, Boro explained that they had to go south to find their friends. The girl cried until Sata mentioned that the meeting place served a delicious fish stew. She relaxed and wiped her tears, but still spoke no words.
Boro, with their new charge on his shoulders, set a straight course through the woods south and east. Walking became easier as they gained more distance from the ocean and the undergrowth thinned out. By mid-afternoon, they came upon the main road to Port Town, and discovered they were not alone.
A family moved southward slowly, the woman limping, the man carrying a boy with burns on his face, and the little girl tagging along behind, dragging a scorched doll.
A cart, partly charred by the fire, bore a few belongings as an elderly couple struggled to make the wheels turn. Boro and Sata added their strength to the effort.
A man walked alone, openly grieving some loss and struggling to breathe.
“Um . . . compared to other people, we’re pretty lucky!” Toli said.
From the back of the cart, Sata flashed him a dirty look. “When we find our teacher and our friends . . . then we’ll know if we’re lucky or not.”
The other people on the road turned off when they came to a track that wound through the trees westward. The old woman explained that the family
down the trail, although not rich, could be counted on to share what they had.
The way was downhill, so the elderly couple nodded their thanks and headed down the track with their little cart.
The three students talked and agreed that a reliable food supply, and the possibility of finding their friends, was more important. The girl on Boro’s shoulders mumbled something that might have been “fish stew.”
Another hour of walking brought them to the village on the bay. A few refugees from the fire sat about with glazed eyes as they ate stew and bread.
Boro set the girl down before he and Sata went off to search the village and question everyone they could find.
Toli rubbed his eyes again, then looked down at the forlorn little girl.
“Want to help me carry bowls of fish stew?”
She nodded vigorously and almost smiled.
Deep Learning Notes
The little girl was going through the early stages of the grief process, and her refusal to speak was her way of denying what had happened. In mentally-healthy people, needs like hunger help us to “move on” by bringing our attention back to physical reality. A bowl of fish stew brought a smile, and a step toward healing, for the child who had probably not yet eaten anything that day.