When There Is Nothing Left But Love

Nora turned to me and queried, “Scarlett, if we indeed get to go home this time around, what would you want to do most of all?”

What did I want? That question lingered in my mind as I continued trudging forward, deep in thought.

There wasn’t any food I was especially craving. After a moment’s pause, I concluded, “I want to see the person I miss most, give him a hug, and apologize to him face-to-face.”

Nora seemed taken by surprise. Then she curiously pressed, “Is it somebody you’re in love with?”

I gave her a faint smile but declined to reply.

Night had fallen when we finally reached saw signs of human life. The village we’d arrived at was located in quite a rural area of the mountains, and perhaps due to its inaccessibility, there didn’t seem to be many inhabitants around.

From the number of lamps we’d counted shining in the dark, there were probably thirty to forty households scattered throughout the village.

“Let’s find a place to hunker down for the night,” Nora suggested, already making her way towards the door of the nearest cottage.

“Woof! Woof!” A dog suddenly rushed out into the yard and began sounding the alert at our sudden intrusion.

We clung to each other, terrified. Fortunately, the dog was leashed to a rope. It strained against its tether, barking continuously.

The owner of the cottage had evidently heard the ruckus. Out stepped a middle-aged man with tan, weathered skin.

spoke, but none of us understood what he was trying to say. After a while, Tabitha gasped. “We might have unknowingly crossed the border

journey we’d made, crossing peak after peak, hadn’t brought us any closer to home. We’d even gone so far that

the cottage seemed to further mistake our intentions. He waved his axe at us threateningly in a

age, ran out of the cottage

conferred with the man for a while. He then grew noticeably calmer and lowered the axe in his

Uncomprehendingly, Tabitha made a few hesitant motions with

understood. He did, however, let us

a dismal sight and stripped down within. Its clay walls were caked with soot, doubtless from the fire

The lamp burned

the cottage was, in fact, a tent stitched together out of gunny sacks. There was dust everywhere. It turned to grime at damp spots where rainwater

heaps of blackened dirt that covered the tent looked sure to be

man took out two bowls from a cabinet and

the language barrier, the man continued to gesture furiously. He seemed to

was steeped in chili. Nora

pickled onions. I think it’s supposed to be a starting dish. Shall we try it?” Tabitha exclaimed rather adventurously. She

in rather gratefully. The flavor of the pickled onions, spicy with a hint

days since we’d really tasted anything. The pickled onions

and his daughter squatted in a corner. They gazed at us with curiosity and awe, mixed

with them. Along with her hand signals, she deliberately spoke a few basic words,

to understand that we were here to borrow a