Tonight will mark the third time we will be relocating in the last month.  Father is one of the main leaders who is coordinating our voyage.  We have been on this unmarked ground for the last week.  We’re expediting to this cause-to-be territory that will bring us closer to freedom.  The other instances we stole time like thieves, tonight, we were to claim these hours of darkness. 
It is best to creep in the still of the night.  The damp dirt will be our feet’s cushion.  The insects, worried for us, will carry echoes for miles as our rapid moves coincide with their cries.  Only this time, Father warned, “NO mistakes!” “NO crawling!” “Only sprinting, in the fastest, yet most quiet manner, ever known.” This, I thought, was only possible in his imaginations. To further imply his seriousness in our upcoming engagement, he revealed: “Throats have been slit, others have been captured and turned into slaves, and some, even main dishes for the general himself!” Therefore, forewarning our caution as only determinations for success. 
I worry and stand anxious for my immediate family.  I know that each of us is strong and courageous, and will endure this excursion just fine.  It is our cluster - additional responsibilities - that I remain concerned about.  I worry for the youngest and the eldest members making this journey with us.  The last few times that we made our escapes, there were plenty of interruptions.  Four of which lead to death.  I witnessed infants crying vibrantly.  Maybe they were hungry, tired, or cold.  Their mother’s did not want to risk the discovery of the entire group.  So each mother released some poppy seeds into their children’s mouths.  The infants stopped crying permanently.  I later learned that the seeds had “special” chemicals, creating silence to wants and needs.  How many will be at risk this time around?  This path tonight is our closest to reaching freedom, or closest to experiencing death or torture.
I agonize the troubles that great aunt will encounter.  Her body is more fragile than that of a newborn. How will she be able to move at the pace that we will need her to? She’s going to hold us up, like last time.  Death was following us so closely.
A few hours after the sunset, I glanced over and saw Great aunt secretly crying.
“Great aunt, what’s the matter?”
“My little girl,” she replied, “you all go ahead.  I will just see you in the next life. I am going to stay here.  I cannot run fast like everyone needs me to.  If I stay here, my chance to reach your great uncle will be closer and sooner.”
“Great aunt, please don’t say such things.  Now hurry, gather your belongings.  I already hear father going to the others and warning them that it’s time.”
This was the most crucial “walk” of our lives. We each stood with fear.  We did not discuss our feelings with one another.  We each had a knapsack.  We formed a tightly knit line. I looked at my mother.  She was disappointingly and silently saying goodbye to her cow.  This was the only thing left that she had of her parents – the family cow.
Looking over at her, Father knew that she was very torn to withdraw from the cow.  Not because it was the only livestock left, but because the relationship and the connection that the cow implemented for her.  As stressed and anxious as father was to have had the responsibilities of coordinating our “escape,” he found 45 seconds to comfort my mother.  He reassured her, “wife, do not worry.  I know that your parents would understand why we would have to leave the cow.  They will bless us with abundance in our new lives in America.”