Andrius Arvydas was tired.

The moon was up, the stars shining in the sky. The train was chugging along the tracks, everyone huddled up and fast asleep, waiting for dawn to break and for the war to end. His mother was asleep too, her arms and legs curled up to her chest. He had his back to the wall of the train compartment, his cigarette butt now put out and sitting on the wooden planks as he took in a breath of air, his tone and sound already wispy and drained off life. The sounds of snores or soft breath were heard from the various people trying to lie down, the night rolling away before them as they passed hills and mountains that stood tall and proud, like they once had. Then he felt a head.