Fire in Their Hearts
an excerpt

Barak woke up the next morning just as the first threads of gold were lacing the eastern horizon. He began to lift his blanket and then, feeling the biting cold beginning to seep in around him, quickly curled up again. Enjoying the foreign feeling of being warm when all about him was cold. He found that the tree under which he lay had hospitably offered its own covering for he was sprinkled with fallen leaves, knocked down, during the night. He could just see in their orange and red coloring in pre-dawn. Autumn was coming early this year and with it, colder nights. Finally Barak persuaded himself to venture out of his warm, woolen cocoon. He stood up and stretched expansively, casting the blanket back onto the bed. His stomach grumbled hopefully but Barak ignored it, having learned through long experience not to give thought to food if possible unless its event was likely in the near future. Barak gave an idle kick to the pile of bedding at the foot of the tree, trying to get the blood flowing in his veins. He thought for a moment about taking the blanket with him but he decided against it, partly from a desire not to steal if necessary and partly from a repugnance to carrying baggage. The first sliver of sun burst over the horizon as Barak rubbed his fingers through his tousled hair and left the shelter of the tree. He struck out, continuing northward, away from the inn. However, he had not walked 200 paces before he heard an unexpected shout behind him. He stopped and looked back. There, he saw, framed in the glow of the sunrise Yaal, running after him, calling,
“Barak, wait! Wait!” Barak stood his ground but tensed every muscle ready to run away like a young deer. The innkeeper ran up but stopped a dozen paces away when Barak showed signs of bolting.
“Here,” Yaal said, gasping to regain his breath, “I thought you might want these” As he spoke he held out a bundle. Barak eyed it suspiciously as he had eyed the bed.
“What is it?” He asked.
“Just some food and change of clothes.”
Barak stood, undecided. Finally, as Yaal once again reached out his hand, Barak approached and, standing as far away as possible, gingerly accepted the bundle. He hurriedly retreated again and turned to go. He walked a few paces and then feeling a strange sensation in his heart, turned, and looked straight into the innkeeper’s eyes.
“Thank-you.” He said and then suddenly began to sprint away down the road, frightened by his own actions and feelings. He heard Yaal shout to him one last time,
“Look out for the city.” Barak did not turn, but just kept running.