In a village between two burning hills torn by the war, a woman named Amara lived with her only child, Sami. Her house was nothing more than a crumbling stone shed, but the fire was stronger than he had lived on his walls. Amara had been raising Sami alone since her husband passed away early in the conflict. To her, Sami wasn't just a son - he was her overall reason to breathe. It was a cold dawn that came to the soldiers. They announced that the village would be evacuated, but only those with the correct papers could certainly leave.
Amara searches every corner of her house, but her documents are lost in the mess of the last robbery. Panic swells in her chest. Without these papers, the Samis remain. The whisper came from my neighbor. Smugglers led people over a broken railway bridge hanging in the canyon. That was dangerous. The bridge was half collapsed, soldiers patrolled nearby, and the wrong steps meant death. But Amara was unquestionable.
That night, Amara and Sami joined the calm line of calm, beneath the bodies of calm lines passing through the shadows. When it was their turn to cross, the smugglers hesitated. He's small, he can do it. But you shook your head. It's too dangerous. They don't have a board. Amara looked at her son. His eyes were terrifying, but he trusted her completely. I won't let him go alone," she said. One arm was around Sami and the other reached the edge of the low rail and stepped onto the bridge.
Along the way, the old wood groaned and succumbed. Crying, she thrusts Sami safely in and collapses. Your body was never found. However, Sami survived and maintained the scarf. And each year he returns to the bridge and places flowers for his mother, who put everything in danger so that he can live...
