almost the shade of the moon.
The man jerked him to his feet, painfully twisting his arm behind his back. Jayvyn tried to resist, but the man’s grip was like iron; he was much too strong. He fought for his footing, thorns tearing flesh as he was dragged roughly from the bush.
As he twisted and wrenched, the man hardened his grip, yanking Jayvyn’s arm higher. Fiery pain shot through his shoulder as the powerful white ogre drove him forward across the dirt to where others from his tribe stood. Terrified, Jayvyn looked out across his now burning village. At least twenty tribal members lay dead, or very nearly, in pools of their own blood.
Strange white men were binding his people’s hands together with rope. Soon Jayvyn’s hands were tied as well. The group of survivors appeared to be about thirty, all as frightened as him. Men, women, children, babies—bewildered, quaking and crying—not knowing what had just occurred.
Hemp scraped roughly over Jayvyn’s neck as the captors’ bound him in line. Long, forked wooden poles were fastened between the necks of the men, forcing them to stay apart from one another.[1]
Jayvyn briefly glimpsed his mother and little sister tied some fifteen or so back. He was about to call out when the rope around his neck gave a sudden jerk, causing him to stumble. His feet reluctantly began to move as the group was pushed down a trail recently trampled by the invaders.
[1] Long forked poles, or yokes were used to separate men in the lines, or “coffles” as they were marched from their homes
Peter D Brown, Author 