![]() ![]() But her main concern now is the fire, for she knows the welfare of the child to come is closely tied to the flax, and she and her husband are committed in this struggle. She is further weakened by new the life she carries within her. The woman tires from the effort of the battle, as well as from the struggle for breath in the choking smoke. Still, they are compelled to fight desperately because their crop of flax is so important, and because there is nothing else they can do. In frustrated panic the farmer and his wife battle without any plan of attack, and against the odds there cannot be one. His bare feet don’t feel the pain of thistles or embers there is only the need to stop the dragon. He is oblivious to the sparks that land on his skin, the flames that singe his hair. The farmer gags on the smoke and retches as tears gush from his burning eyes. Flames leap from place to place in the dark, giving but a dim glow of light through the heavy haze. There is no stopping the beast as it undulates throughout the standing stalks. But the fire dragon has had a good head start and craves the unctuous grain. Together they flail at the hungry flames advancing through the field, each unable to see the other in the darkness and swirling smoke that shrouds them. Another voice coughs and calls to him through the thick billowing smoke and flame. It’s already a lost cause but the farmer-warrior doesn’t know it. The crop sizzles as each stem is consumed, the oily seeds crackling and flashing into flame, then gone. Clad only in his long underwear he whirls a braided kitchen rug, attacking the snapping, snarling fire dragon that devours his precious field-a field of flax. Now a barefoot man comes running out of the dark, coughing and gagging on the smoke that engulfs him. Distant points of light are far too feeble to cast shadows of a deed done in the darkness. Muffled by the murky dark, crackling flames dance yellow-orange under the smoke, greedily consuming a dry grassy meal. Like a pall, it hangs in the dead air that lacks breath to blow it away. Smoke, thicker than the moonless night spreads like black ink on a blotter. ![]()
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