When There Is Nothing Left But Love (Ashton And Scarlett)

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.

After a

after peak, hadn’t brought us any closer to home. We’d even gone so far that we were in another country

the cottage seemed to further mistake our intentions.

out of the cottage just then. She tugged at the man’s

urgently conferred with the man for a while. He

made a few hesitant motions with her hands in return, trying to convey

couldn’t tell if he understood. He did, however,

cottage we entered was a dismal sight and stripped down within. Its clay walls were caked with soot,

lamp hung from the ceiling, the sort that farming villages would have used decades ago. The lamp burned dimly at a bare fifty watts, probably to

utensils in a neat stack in a corner. The roof of the cottage was, in fact, a tent stitched together out of gunny sacks. There was dust everywhere.

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

out two bowls from

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

at the bowls in front of us. The food was steeped in chili. Nora

it’s supposed to be a starting dish. Shall we try it?” Tabitha exclaimed rather adventurously.

a whole day, we dug in rather gratefully. The flavor

since we’d really tasted anything. The pickled onions thus thoroughly satisfied our

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

Nora persisted in her attempts to communicate with them. Along with her hand signals, she deliberately spoke a few basic words,

both father and daughter came to understand that we were here to borrow a