I am quiet in the dark of a quiet place, rock grinding hard into my back and hard-packed earth beneath where I sit, hushed in shadow.

The shadows are my friends. They murmur with inaudible voices, Wait here for the soldiers to leave.

But I itch inside my skin. I don’t want to wait. I have family out there, who were working in the fields when soldiers came.

No, I murmur back as silently. Rise with me. Cover their escape.

Shadows move. Finally they agree.

I go out, where archers can see me, and raise the night.

Let arrows fly.