Night came, and my brothers’ insults were my lullabies. The blanket hugged me, so I won’t feel the wind coming through the door. The coughing started at dark, and by the time the ale sent my father to sleep, I was already gasping for air. This night was like no other. An arm had gripped my neck, only tightening as the night got darker.

“Where’s your grandmother?” - mother asked.

“She went to see the sick this morning. She didn’t come back.” - I said.

“She didn’t? Not even to make your soup?” - mother said.

“No, I guess there are a lot of children that need care.” - I said, a feather tingling my throat with every word.

“She might be spending the night in someone’s house then…” - mother said.

My hand immediately slipped to the place where I kept the seeds, but I pulled it back as if it touched something hot. No, I won’t take them. I won’t be making peace. I’ll fight. But I couldn’t get the air to fill my chest. My throat was singing like a door struggling to keep the wind out.

I thrashed in my bed when the lack of air made the darkness dance around me. The whiteness of the moon and the embers of the fire blended, and I felt my body becoming lighter. But I won’t be making peace.

The dreams must have taken me, for I saw a woman dressed in a long white dress sitting next to me.

“What are you doing here?” - I said.

“Waiting.” - she answered and put her hand on top of mine, comforting me.

Then it all went black.