Running and running, Mwandu lost all sense of time and direction. As long as he was getting away from Shingul Village, away from the fires, away from the burning lights, away from the cries and chaos and the reek of the singed bodies. He had been asleep that morning when the invasion descended on his village, and he had woken up by shouts and screams. The huge weapons came out of the sky and landed on houses and in the stream and shot light at the villagers running around. Mwandu leapt out of bed, saw his parents lying dead in the doorway, and ran for the hills. He'd been running for a long time, and was starting to huff and puff, but wouldn't stop until he got into the forest. The forest was usually a half day's journey away. Mwandu could still hear the screams and things exploding in the village. Or was it his mind playing tricks on him? He was running on pure adrenaline. He wasn't seeing where he was going. He tripped on a branch, fell, and before even realizing that he was deep into the forest, he lost consciousness.