“What’s this?” The old man points to a make-shift shelter of branches and leaves extending from the back of the house.
Then a young girl rushes out wearing rags and tries to flee, but the old man is flanked by his two sons who help herd her into the corner of the garden. The youngest son picks her up by the neck, unsure how to end this.
Through the boundary foliage they hear a cry as a woman forces her way through. She is bleeding and crying, and she starts climbing over the fence.
“Hey, stop that.” The old man rushes towards her.
The woman is prevented to climb over and she’s caught on the fence’s sharp barbs.
“Please help us,” she cries.
Then another face appears in the undergrowth where the woman pushed through. A young weathered boy recognises the girl writhing in the grip of the young farmer. The boy jumps the fence and runs across the grass, but a shovel is soon pushing into his neck by the eldest land-owner’s son.
Another rustle as two more faces appear in the gap of the boundary’s bush from the fishing village below.
The woman sitting on the spiky fence cries, “Please, everything has been swept away.”