Photo © Joy Pixley
The bodies recovered from the raid were laid out like bolts of cloth. Hennar could barely see the ones to either side for the fog. The chilling mist filled her nose with despair, with disease.
Another woman, unseen, shrieked in discovery. Hennar’s tears would not come.
She lifted Jannar to her hip. He weighed no more than when they’d left the farm a year ago.
Hennar turned him away from the sight. “He’s gone to watch your sisters, dear.”
A dark, hazy form approached. Hennar retreated, shuddering, until she recognized a fellow refugee.
Glancing down, the woman hugged her. “Now will you reconsider?”
She meant the heathen prophet, the supposed son of the northerners’ river goddess. The one they claimed was stronger than Sambar.
“He clears the killing fog, Hennar. Everyone says.”
Maybe he could.
“Come with us.”
Had she not constantly prayed to Sambar? Been devout, loyal? And here grew the fruit of it.
Hennar knelt, touching her husband’s stiff hand. “Forgive me, love.”
She rose, joining the shuffling parade heading north.
Word count: 175. Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting, and for featuring my photo this week! Click here to see the other stories written for this prompt.
To read more about Hennar, click here: A Dim Sight
Note that the title was intended to evoke the phrase “fog of war” and not some song I just found online with the same title.