As a startled looking Peter slipped out Cassie as she grimaced and squeezed the bones in my hand to dust, I knew I’d be prepared to fight to the death to protect them. Little did I realise that I’d be doing just that six weeks later, struggling through forest undergrowth towards the border, pursued by the retort of pistols and drunken shouting. We were targets in a game beyond our comprehension which was fast approaching its endpoint. When we finally reached the river Cassie plunged in, swimming with Peter held above the water, as I fired shots into the dark.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.