Jasmine's War

From the shadows between colossal trees the dawn mist drifted across the trail. A girl was running hard, a basket of washed laundry on her head, hands struggling to keep it there. She’d have to ditch the basket if she was serious about putting distance between her and her pursuers, but she pictured her mother, hands on hips, enquiring after the whereabouts of what was almost their entire wardrobe. Breathless, she looked behind. She could see nothing and now the path, too, faded beneath the ...