It
seemed as though the journey lasted years when in truth I cannot tell you how
long it lasted. My eyes were blurred
with each tree that we passed that I lost count of the seconds that i counted. It
was only when we stopped at a stream, that time seem to have come back to
me. The rider that I was with got off
his horse, it was when he turned to look at me that I saw he was young but
older than myself. As this boy carried
me down to the stream for water and probably to clean up some I saw the big man
kneeling next to his horse with a body on the ground. I knew it was my mother, she must not have survive
the journey. Was all I could think. Yet,
in my head I knew that she should have died long ago, it was her sheer will
that she lived for me. She lived to make
sure I was safe.
I
sat at the edge of the water scrubbing my face as the tears flowed. I cried for
those in my village that I knew, for those babies that would never grow, never
take a first step, never smell spring, I cried for my mother. She risked every thing just to have me and
then again to save me.
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