The smoke bellows thick and funk, it’s nasty stuff, deadly stuff and the 2 brave, little girls choke and cry on the stink of it. Hefty blades and axes they have none of, but hefty souls carry them forward, ready for strike and death. Blinding light flashes and stings their eyes from every direction, disorientated they fall to the dusty floor, coughing, clammy and cold they struggle to clasp hands. Little fingertips brush in the fog, but it’s enough, they steel themselves anew.
