An hour after the search, they began to breath a little deeper and whisper to each other. Strangers crammed into a closet and covered with old fashioned skis, sleeping bags, back packs all old, not the new light weight back packs, heavy and fortunately uninviting to the newly deputized militia who conducted the search. They were most likely looking for treasure. Looting as payment for their servitude.
"We can't fight them, you know."
he nodded. They had to move. they didn't know if it was night or day or how long they had drifted in this small small space. They had to move or someone would smell them. She closed her eyes. "We have got to tune into the village." If she could see him she would have seen him shake his head and roll his eyes. It felt like a nod to her. He didn't understand a word she just said. "Tune in?" They heard a crash and caught their breath and became statues, eyes squeezed shut, unconsciously holding each others hands in a clench. No one had to say shhh. they both knew. Sillness and prayer, she thought.
He reverted to his training as a Navy Seal. He knew how to hide and when to move.
"Sammy" A child's voice, more clangs. A dog? Cheyanne moved first. With no thought. She pushed at the top and started to crawl over the toppling pile. She saw no choice. He had been taught to assess first. He tried to pull her back but didn't want to scare her off.
