Take Me Home

3. Discovery

Freya looked up. Something suddenly shook the ground, causing the cellar to rumble and vibrate. Dust clouded the air and Grandma started coughing. The candles shuddered, one of them blowing out. Freya eyes widened in disbelief as she imagined what happened.

"Grandpa?" She questioned. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"They bombed us." He said slowly, bringing a hand up to rest on his chin.

Freya gasped, imagining Cadence and the other farm animals. "Did they hit us?" She asked, eyes looking up and picturing damage and the death of the livestock.

"No." His wise eyes shone against the candlelight. "They hit farther inland. That wouldn't bring too much damage to us."

Sighing in relief, Freya slid back against the cold wall, closing her eyes as the planes and the rumbling continued, thinking and waiting.

After a good 30 minutes, the sound slowly faded and the sirens turned off. Opening the cellar door, the family stepped out and looked around. They could see the village, unharmed, but in the distance there was smoke. The other towns had been hit again.

Sending a prayer of thanks that they had not been hit, the family went inside. Grandpa guided them inside but Freya stopped at the porch.

"I'm not tired. I don't even think I can go back to sleep after that. I'll...take Cadence for a ride down to the beach or something, if that is alright with you?" She asked quietly and grandpa turned to her.

"I don't know. I don't think its quite safe yet. Why don't you wait?" He murmured back, continuing through the house. Freya watched him go inside, her blue eyes looked around in disappointment and she followed him, persistent.

"I promise that if i hear anything, I will come back immediately. I-I'll be just fine." She asked hopefully. He turned, Grandma not hearing the conversation and moving toward her rocking chair near the small fireplace in the main room.

He looked at Freya, seeing her hopeful gaze, and then nodded. "Alright. I suppose you can go down to the beach, but be careful."

Freya smiled softly, turning away, hearing him mutter under his breath, "I don't want to lose you too." The words hit her harder than she thought and made her think. She knew she would be okay if she left for a short time. She just wanted some time alone, some time to breath.

Heading toward the barn, Freya opened the big doors, seeing the horses and chickens pecking around on the hay filled ground made her feel much better. Here, it was a much more quiet place. She considered these animals her friends. Walking toward her horse's stall, she pet the farm cat, named Mouse, who just lashed her tail and stalked away. Opening Cadence's stall, Freya guided the white mare out of the barn by her reins, then climbed onto the bare back and took off.

The wind in her long, wavy brown hair, Freya broke Cadence into a run, the two speeding away from the house. Her white nightgown blew with the chilly breeze as she rode, the storm clouds above her not letting any rain pour down from the grey and white sky. She felt that everything was suddenly taken from her, all her worried, her troubles, her broken dreams. She could be a free-minded young woman when she rode Cadence. Her heart suddenly much lighter, she made her way down a slope toward the beach.

The beach wasn't very big, it was at the beginning of the huge cliffs she lived nearby, but it was very close to her home and she didn't need to ride to far to get there. Covered in white sand, there weren't any shells or other sea treasures. Some rocks and crabs. Sometimes, sand-dollars and starfish. Stopping Cadence near a rock, Freya slid off her friends back and tied the rope from the reins around the rock, making sure it was sturdy before walking barefoot along the water. Waves crashed onto the sand, reflecting the white light from the grey clouds overhead, the water angry and violent from the storm. The tide was rising, as it was almost night.

Her feet sank into the sand and she looked down, watching the sand fall onto her feet as they creating prints. Looking out across the water, she felt a sense of peace. Smiling to herself, she thought of her father. He always loved the beach. Pushing away sadness that threatened to overwhelm her, she returned her gaze ahead of her, only to stop, heart almost stopping as blue iris's landed on a shape in the sand not too far ahead of her.

The shape was motionless, but right away she could tell it was a human.

Her whole body tensed up in fear and she hesitated, unsure whether she should run away or see who it was. Concern also washed over her, and she found herself breaking into a run toward the unmoving body.

Stopping a few feet away, she studied it. It was obviously a male. Her eyes ran along the green, dirty army uniform, the helmet that was strapped to his head. A parachute was in the water behind him, floating helplessly as the waves crashed over it. Some materials were around him, she saw a compass a few feet away, and then a sheathed knife, a few feet away.

Creeping close, she bent down and let her knees rest in the sand as she gently unstrapped the cold helmet, a plain, green helmet, setting it on the sand near her. Her heart froze as she saw the motionless face. It was a young face, he looked like he could be 15 or 16. The boy's hair was jet black, wet against his head but spiked due to the water. His face was oval shaped, eyes closed. Freckles were all around his nose and cheeks, making him look younger but having a cute effect. She looked around, trying to see where he was from. Was he American? He didn't have the symbol on him, or ranks, but he also didn't have any other symbols on him. She reached her hand forward and pressed her fingers to his neck. she pulled back, shock in her eyes as she realized he had a weak pulse. He was alive.

She couldn't see if he was breathing with all of his gear on, so she reached forward and began to pull off the parachute bag, removing it from him and tossing it into the ocean. She used her forearm strength to lift him up and quickly slide off two more heavy bags, pushing them aside. Gently setting him back onto the sand, she stared at him, having no clue what to do. He was in a green coat, which overlapped a pair of green pants, following some rough, worn brown leather boots that were probably soaked. Knowing the consequences of soaked shoes, she reached down and untied them, pulling them off and tossing the old shoes aside, then studied a label that was on the side of one. It wasn't English. That was clear. This soldier, whoever he was, was not a British soldier. Or an American. He didn't have the fine features of the Japanese, and it wouldn't be a Russian soldier, that wouldn't make any sense.

Her eyes traced over him, confused. He had to be German. There was no other explanation, but she wasn't one hundred percent sure. Her heart felt betrayed and hurt by the German soldiers who had killed her father. Why should she help this one? He could have been the one who killed her father, for all she knew. But she didn't know anything at all.

That's why she decided she would try to save this person.

She placed her hand on his motionless face, fingertips on his cold cheeks, when suddenly his eyes shot open, revealing two unique, green iris's...