**Diary Entry** Id just returned to my village after three weeks on the road, hauling goods across the
No one can be forced to respect you.A withered tree wont bear fruit, no matter how much you water it.
Twelve-year-old Oliver hurried home after school, wrapped in a thick woollen scarf his mum had knitted
My stomach growled like a stray dog, and my hands were freezing. I walked along the pavement, peering
My father seldom spoke the words “I love you.”Yet each morning before work, he’
The bus was more than twenty minutes late, and the biting cold grew unbearable. Oliver left work later
I stepped off the small boat that still smelled of pine resin and river mud and, in that instant, knew