The fog hung low over the forest as the party trudged through the brush, the thin, twisted branches of bushes snagged on their trousers. There were a hundred of them, men, women, and children. The strong amongst them carried hunting bows, slingshots, and short blades. They were commoners, not warriors, but this war had made combatants of them all.

Some of them still had burns from the fire: shadows of the great darkness that had engulfed their land. The soldiers of the White Lion had come with flame and steel, there not just to occupy but to destroy, to cut off supplies to the High King and his Red Lions. The land had been soaked in blood and ash. Nothing remained.

Now they walked on, further and further down the winding paths of the Grimwood, hoping for the day when they would find a new home.

Word Count: 146

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Joy Pixley for providing the prompt photo!

9 thoughts on “Refugees

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  1. Seems to me like the beginning of a grim and even more bloody journey. I hope someday they prevail. The land will take time to repair, but there are things like acorns for instance, that require heat to open so they will grow. Great take!

    Liked by 1 person

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