They walked to an area not surrounded by dogs or garbage.

To a place where the trickle of what fresh water was to be had widened into a thicker version of, well, a trickle of water.

"Why are we free if we can't have freedom? The only thing I've noticed today is that the view is getting progressively worse, mother."

Dreama's mother looked into the sick bay, where bodies were being carried in and out, all looking the same dead or alive.

"Because freedom is something that doesn't come in just a day, daughter. Like a diamond, it is an object nobody desires until it's gone though the appropriate time and pressure to become such. We are coal, daughter, and they...." She trailed off while focusing her eyes on the green and brown uniforms carrying guns.

"They are the pressure."

"Then why do their dogs attack us?

Why do they get fresh water and food, medical care, Why mother, do they get to walk outside of the fence and yell at us. They are not pressure to me, they are the reason we are not home. Our family is dead or dying. I no longer wish to flail in uncertainty at the fact that even if we become diamonds, who will find us!?"

Dreama hastily removed the flask from her jacket and filled it in the stream.

"But I suppose, coal can't talk, can it?", she said as she left her mother weeping by the water.

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