The thunder of running steps.

The roar of adrenalin.

The whizzing of bullets.

Brown.

Blur.

Noise.

As she turned to glance at the oncoming sea of white, intense yellow light peeking through the trees blinded her as shadows reached for her ankles. Teardrops hit the dirt beneath her feet and she stepped over them as she ran towards the darkened skies.

Despite the screams of women and the cries of babes, she could not hear. Despite the fresh earth and melted snow, she could not smell. Despite the single bottle of water in her left hand, she could not feel. was dry and she had bit her inner cheek. Despite the blood, she could not feel.

There was nothing more debilitating than terror.

The tug on her hand forced her forwards, faster, as a single streamlined-piece of metal zipped right through the small space between to her right. What little spit she had in her dry mouth, she swallowed, the disgusting taste of metal gagging her. In a futile hope for security, she clutched the calloused hand in hers tighter, the only feeble link keeping them together.

The cold winds howled, sweeping through the trees like a grey wolf staking its territory. The incessant gust bit her bare skin and blew into her eyes. The wind demanded submission. The trees could only bend to its will.

But not her. She would not submit. Could not submit.

Chaos was upon her but she registered nothing but the lone comforting grasp of her husband’s hand in hers as they ran for their lives.

Her heart pounded faster, determined to keep her alive despite death’s fevered approach.

She felt a trickle of perspiration flow from her husband’s arm to the crack between their palms. If she couldn’t hear anything else, she could hear her husband’s laboured breaths. She felt the whip of bullets as several passed by her.

Just a bit more. Only a little further. Into the trees and they could hide. They would be safe.

They would be safe.

Then her husband let out a cry and he went down, pulling her with him. She gaped, heart in , unable to utter a sound. She tumbled onto him as bullets continued their course above them, searching for some other target. For the final time, he took her in his arms and he rolled above her. Another bullet hit him and his backed arced from the impact.

Fresh blood pooled around her, scarlet against the dirty snow. Just like a snow flower in February.