the wagon
"Please... stop..."
"It hurts..."
The boy's voice dissolved into a broken sob.
When he opened his eyes, he thought he had gone blind.
There was no moonlight. No stars. Only darkness pressing in from every side.
The air was damp and suffocating, thick with the smell of old timber, moldy straw, and too many bodies crammed into too little space.
Something shifted beneath him.
Wood.
A wagon.
He tried to sit up.
The coarse rope around his wrists tightened instantly, biting into skin that had long since been rubbed raw. His ankles were bound just as tightly.
The wagon lurched as he struggled.
The ropes did not.
Outside, iron-bound wheels rolled over uneven ground with a slow, relentless rhythm. Horses snorted into the cold night air, while somewhere ahead men laughed amongst themselves, their voices light, as though they were escorting livestock instead of prisoners.
The boy stopped struggling.
Someone else was breathing.
The sound came from somewhere beside him.
Then, out of the darkness—
"...You're awake."
The voice was barely louder than a whisper.
The boy turned toward it, though he could see nothing.
"...Who are you?"
A brief silence followed.
"...Rowan."
The darkness swallowed the name.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
At last, the boy broke the silence.
"...Were you taken too?"
A hollow laugh drifted through the wagon.
There was no amusement in it.
Only resignation.
"...Would I be here otherwise?"
The boy had no reply.
After another long silence, Rowan spoke again.
"They came before dawn."
His voice was strangely detached, as though he were recounting the memory of someone else's life.
"My father never woke."
He paused.
"...I don't know if that's a blessing."
The boy lowered his head.
"...I don't remember mine."
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, faint outlines began to emerge.
Children.
Small figures leaned against the wagon's walls, their wrists bound just like his. Some had somehow fallen asleep despite the endless shaking. Others stared blankly at the floorboards, too exhausted to cry.
Only a little girl in the corner still fought to hold back her sobs.
Children.
Nothing but children.
The realization brought no comfort.
Only another question.
Why?
Time lost all meaning inside the wagon.
Day and night could only be guessed by the warmth that seeped through the wooden planks or the cold that settled into their bones after sunset.
Twice a day, the doors opened.
Hands tossed in stale bread and strips of dried meat before slamming them shut again.
No names.
No explanations.
The food was never enough.
Some children hid scraps beneath their clothes, only to wake and find them stolen. Others cried from hunger until even that required more strength than they possessed.
The boy ate everything he was given.
One evening, Rowan watched him in silence before asking,
"You eat like you've been starving your whole life."
The boy stared at the empty palm resting on his knee.
"...They usually take it."
Rowan never asked who.
Some answers didn't need explaining.
The wagon rolled on.
Its weary wheels carried them farther from the homes they would likely never see again.
Days passed.
The road slowly changed beneath them.
The smooth dirt path gave way to broken ground tangled with roots and scattered stones. Every jolt threw the children against one another, and the wagon groaned louder with each passing mile.
Then another sound reached them.
Creak...
Rumble...
Wooden wheels.
Not one wagon.
Several.
The sounds drifted through the forest, rising and falling with the wind. Another wagon... then another... until the children realized they were no longer traveling alone.
A convoy.
Hidden behind every wooden cage were more frightened children.
No one spoke.
Yet every pair of eyes carried the same question.
How many had been taken before us?
