Her eyes flashed dark and golden

Writing is in itself a perilous journey, an act that creates it's own allegory. Hunched over a table writing you are vulnerable to attack, defenseless against madness and destruction. Anyone could just walk up to you and stick a knife in your back. So maybe you get yourself a gun and a bunch of friends and then set out to find the TRUTH. Nature seems determined to stop your progress; you are hit by hard rain, landslides and wild animals stoically wait for the weak to be off their guard.
Around the hazy orange campfire, that snaps and hisses,the group of nomads came to the agreement that they would defend themselves. The weapons at first seemed awkward in their hands, but as their confidence grew they seemed to have a clearer view of their purpose. They realized they were always keeping some thing at bay.
On the second day they take in a twelve year old boy, he teaches them that the dignity of childhood is silence. Distrust is already growing within the gang.