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.