The air is dry and acrid; soaked in the scents of burnt meat and rotten wood. The inferno glazes your cheeks and the morning dew tickles your feet. It’s as if the orange color spilled on the landscape around, blazing another fire alight. Above your head dance dead fireflies. You hug her; she lets you. She’s shaking and you can see a reflection of guilt in her eyes. A drop of sweat drips from your nose, though it is cold. And despite the deafening child scream, the forest is quiet as never.