Kumea (Koo-may) was a little girl. She was the age of ten and always wore pigtails clasped with a bright blue ribbon. Every morning Kumea woke up early, with the sun, and helped her mother tend to the rice farm in beautiful Japan. This farm year was different than all the others. The rice paddy was a sickly brownish yellow instead of bright lush green, and at night she would hear her parents talking about how the emperor would take their farm away if the weather didn’t change. One morning Kumea was gathering water from the creek when she thought she heard movement in the forest behind her house. Kumea took a little cup, filled it with water, and carried it over to a small yellow flower behind a shed. Slowly she poured water on the flower like she had done for weeks when her mother wasn’t looking. Just then a large cart approached the farmhouse with armored soldiers in it. Kumea peeked around the corner of the shed and watched the soldiers walk to her Father. The soldiers and her f
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