Well, howdy there internet people, it's Bo again.

So tonight I'm going to tell you a story.

It's a story that I heard years ago around a campfire.

And I've looked it up since then trying to find the source material on it.

And like many stories like this, you really can't.

In fact, I can't find any story told from this perspective.

I can find the story, but it's always told from the viewpoint of the mother in the story.

In fact, I can't even find one told mentioning a group of young people.

But that's the version I'm going to tell you because even though it's not a traditional telling as far as I can tell I like it better.

So there's this young boy.

He's 12, 13 years old.

And he's on a journey.

He's leaving everything he knows, headed to someplace he doesn't know and has no

connection to. His whole village is going with him because they're being forced to move.

They have no choice in the matter.

It's winter.

It is winter.

There are ice flows in the river.

The soldiers that are moving them, they don't care that it's winter.

They have winter clothing.

They don't care about the people that they're moving.

And this young boy watches, just distraught,

...