In the deep twilight.
Under the old locust tree outside the village fence, a few villagers awaited with torches.
"Why hasn't he come back yet?"
"Hope he didn't fail to save the person and endanger himself?"
"Hush! Don't say things like that!"
"Little Taylor, go back to sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, your dad will be back." The old village chief hesitated, then spoke upon seeing the little girl beside him, her eyelids drooping and eyes red.
Nine-year-old Taylor was wrapped in a patchwork cloak made of coarse burlap, standing barefoot on the cold, hard, manure-covered mud, her head down in silence, just staring at her already reddened toes.
She originally had shoes, but earlier at dusk, a few village kids mocked her about being fatherless, prompting a scuffle where she lost her shoes.
"Will Dad really come back?"
