The dark young boy led them into the woods at night. The first frosts had eliminated most of the parasites. Hair protected some ears but others showed, not cold, but secretly red as their possessor's hearts drove the blood hard to all their furthest responsibilities. They had not travelled far enough from the community to escape the smell of local pine burning in fireplaces before the leader stopped and instructed openly, "Knock down that skinny birch." A boy walked to it, seized the trunk at the height of his chest, and threw himself away from it expecting his efforts to be comparably counter matched by the mild strength of the grounded young tree. But the trunk snapped at the site of his hand and a few feet below and above before the white bark on dead wood fell from showing the lunar brightness into darkness on the natural, open burial ground, on which the boy then lied.
The dark one acknowledged the fall with a half mouthed smile while he shouted to produce the pot that he had said would be necessary. Clanks rang out when a girl pulled a stainless steel cooking pot out of her backpack. She took the lipstick and make up out of the pot and returned them to her bag. She brought the pot to the instructor and held it in her arms like a child and an offering. "Can you hear that stream? Find it and fill the pot. Bring it back."
Others had been individually ordered to gather kindling or twigs or logs or to build a perimeter of cairns. (A strong boy built a cairn straight up with 6 stones the sizes of basketballs and footballs.) The builders finished simultaneously when bearers of wood and water returned and existed for the first time inside the completed perimeter. The leading boy sparked a flame in his hand three seconds before the wood was orchestrated appropriately in the center then knelt as others rose. The location or existence of the match was never distinguishable to the others but there was a flame in his hand and then there was a blaze from the dark.