It was the Saint that saved the child. While his house and the people around him were melting from the flames, the small child stared. Before flames could turn him to ashes, as they did to the rest of his family, a soft hand grabbed his. Up he went into someone’s arms. There was no time to see whom they belonged to. Outside the sky was gray and filled with the large dark metal birds, as it had been since he was born. The arms carried him down the mountain that he had lived on his whole life. Down, down, down he went. He turned his neck. “Don’t look back,” said the arms. So instead the child looked up, to see a saint carrying him away.
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