We were walking through the snow. Our feet were cold, the holes in our boots leaked in ice with every step we took. But dad said to keep walking - we could change our socks at the next stop he had claimed- so we did.

We walked in a line.

The order of it was strategic enough to keep us safe and together. The oldest of our group -my grandmother and two others- walked at the front, they set our groups walking pace. They were also our bait for the predators lurking.
Behind them were five of our strongest, staying alert and ready to defend everyone from an attack to our group.
In the middle was our women and children, with the odd father. This was my group, for now at least. We followed on and kept everyone happy, whistling with the children and keeping them in the line. My mother and aunt were the leaders here being almost ready for the move to the front group.
Following behind were our next five strongest warriors, keeping the same job as the first five -to protect everyone from harm. The older warriors per say, were here. My uncle and a few friends fell into here, where I should have been.

Following behind us was my father. He was the leader, our leader. His job was to keep the group on track and to make sure no one was left behind. He was the protector of the group, while my mother nurtured us he trained us to be strong, to use our minds in unbelievable ways, to know that anything was possible. He protected our family.

But soon it was to become my job