What Will They Do?

What will they do?

What does an old man do as he watches helplessly as barbarous foe turn the last of his home from mighty stone to ash and rubble?

Does he show his anger to the invaders that are destroying his land, his family, his home?

What was an old man thinking when he had to choose between saving his daughter or her son?

Does he leave the frail young boy to fend for himself only to be killed or raised by his enemies?

What can an old man do when time and age have taken away the strength of his youth?

Does he fight back like he would in the bygone days when he battled so many foreign oppressors?

What will this old man do?

What does a little boy do as he waits for the sweet face of his mother to emerge from the heat of the flames?

Does he show his weakness to the men that are stealing away his childhood?

What was a little boy thinking when he admired, instead of feared, the men wielding fire and swords of iron and bronze?

Does he leave this place until he is brave and strong enough to avenge his mother's death or one day does he become the adversary he admires?

What can a little boy do as his shock turns to grief and heavy tears roll onto his woolen blanket?

Does he fight back someday using all his grandfather will teach him about the old ways of chivalric code or practice blinding bloodlust?

What will this little boy do?

As rows of foxtail bend and bow across the bleak meadow like fallen soldiers at war, they cling to the only pieces of their lives they have left, one another.

What will they do?