Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief - by Katrina Nannestad

I know what they are. Yelena has told me all about them. They are tanks. German tanks. I begin to run. I clutch the flowers in my hand and run as fast as I can, out of the meadow, past Old Nikolay’s workshop and straight through the middle of the flock of geese. They’re scurrying now, stretching their wings out wide and honking, ‘Trouble! Trouble!’ For the tiniest moment, I wonder if I should try to round them up and hide them in a shed or deep in the forest where they’ll be safe. But I’m scared for myself, too, so I keep running until I’m back home. Mama wraps her arms around Yelena and me. We all stare out the window as the tanks roll through our village, just one street away. The floor shakes, the pots rattle, my tummy aches and I hold on to the bunch of flowers, tighter and tighter. The tanks groan and screech and rumble and roll and churn up the dirt road better than any horse and plough could ever do. The rumbling and shaking pass, and Mama pulls the hard tips of her fingers out of our shoulders. We creep outside. Old Anna Pushinka, our neighbour, stares at us from her door. Others soon join us in the street, but nobody speaks a word. For a long time, the village is silent.

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