Life comes at you fast

It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.
Oscar Wilde

We had begun to relax within the comforts of routine. There was a flow to the change of riding alongside the wagons, walking away the kinks or manning the reins of the teams. Each had their responsibilities and expanded within them like the good fit of a glove. This morning, however, was proving difficult to make any time whatsoever. Braced against the winds that were beginning to pick up, the animals were becoming abrasive and belligerent.

It had been one of those glances back over my shoulder looking for some sign or hint of those not with us, that I spied Dracko and his rider. They were bearing down on the cluster of wagons like a vart out of a cave. Ramza had noticed the coming of the storm and was furiously trying to direct the lines of wagons in on themselves to create a barrier of protection. There was going to be very little time to shield against the onslaught. We barely saw the bosk unhitched before it hit.

Rather than send the children to their prospective homes, they were ushered into whatever wagon was closest. Birmah would be tossed a few of the smaller ones to defend before I made sure the scattering of my little group was in the security of mine. Winds rising in their intensity began rocking our homes on their axles, mine was severe enough to bounce and land hard. You could hear the crackle of wood as the tongue fractured. The eerie angle of it dredged in the ground would be what anchored it more firmly in its spot.

Without the luxury of extra weight, I had to hold tight to the railing to keep from being blown away. I had no wish for a repeat of the last moves lessons on flying. From there, I had a slight vantage point to watch as one of the wagons further down the row was picked up off its wheels and rolled into splinters. Another began to sway precariously on its side. You never know how touching it is to see heroism in action until you have witnessed it first hand. There was Ramza darting into the face of the storm itself to scoop up a little girl just before the canvas side rolled down to crush her. When a broken remnant of a chest hit the back of his thigh, I thought he was going to go down. He didn't. His approach with her wrapped in his arms came with the look of pain and the obvious favoring of that leg and commands to get inside. I would have if I could have turned loose long enough.

The last I saw of him, he was handing her off to one of the other women. Another strong gust drove me into the side of the platform pinning my elbow in between with a wince of pain. I am grateful for Ebet, he was the strength to see me shoved up over the rail with barked orders that backed up the former with an added 'stay there'. I didn't need to be told three times.

Inside, it seemed like ahn after ahn passed, listening to the roars of the gale and watching as it ripped at the lacings of the canvas until new streamers were made of the loose edges. I held on tight to the brood of youth that were there with me, quietly humming some far away lullaby. They joined in to make the melody a half prayer for the quiet to return again.

When it did, it had a weight to it that bore down on all of our shoulders. We all emerged slowly to begin picking up the pieces. The damages had been far sweeping and for some eternal. Ebet was gone.