The sun slowly descended toward the western mountains, painting the dusty road in shades of orange and gold.
After an exhausting day of walking, the refugee procession finally reached a broad clearing beside a small stream. Several carts were parked beneath the trees, and the instructors ordered everyone to prepare for the night.
The travelers were exhausted.
Their feet hurt, their shoulders ached, and the small meat buns they had received earlier had done little to satisfy their hunger. Yet the moment they heard that they could finally rest, their spirits lifted.
Someone immediately dropped onto the grass.
"Never again," a middle-aged man declared dramatically. "If anyone asks me to walk this far tomorrow, I shall become a tree."
His wife stared at him.
"A tree?"
"Yes. Trees don't have to walk."
A young man sitting nearby burst into laughter.
"Uncle, trees also have to stand in the sun!"
"Then I shall become a rock."
"Rocks can be kicked!"
