The huts were on fire. The village was ablaze. Menalik looked up from the wet ditch and praised his mother for having insisted that he hide. He felt like a dog. He should be standing up to the invaders like a warrior. But he was a boy, just thirteen. He looked across the river and saw a woman fall to the ground. His eyes closed. He could not help it. This book can be purchased at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07B6WY13F/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i4