The field was singing the coldest wind through our souls. Children burned with fever. Some collapsed and never rose again. We held our coughs, terrified that even one sound might bring death upon us. Then an older man fell, gasping, and the night erupted with fire - shells rained down, bullets tore through the meadow, and our fragile unity shattered.
We were exhausted enough to surrender, to let death take us and finally rest. But I had to keep running. For Lena. For Lars. For every child who still clung to life.