The night was harsh, the moon casting an unforgiving light upon the farmyard. The wind whispered secrets to the trees, its chill biting into the bones. The family sat within their modest cottage, relishing the warmth provided by the dwindling fire. As they shared dreams over a humble meal of grains, a young woman, battered and bruised, stumbled into the yard, her body ravaged by a terrible illness. She clutched a heavy sack of gold, its weight almost dragging her to the frozen ground.
The son, a young man of nineteen, stepped out into the night, the fog parting just enough to reveal a figure collapsed in the yard. Gold was scattered around her like fallen stars. He hesitated, fear and curiosity warring within him. Running back to the cottage, he called out to his family, his voice a mix of urgency and disbelief. "There's a girl, sick and surrounded by gold!"
Pop, the patriarch of the family, retrieved his rifle, while Mother armed herself with a rolling pin. They were joined by Sister, clinging to her mother's apron, and Son, gripping his .22 rifle. Together, they ventured out into the night. The girl lay in the log shed, her skin a tapestry of bruises and blisters. Her condition was dire, and the family's fear of disease clashed with their compassion.
Pop stood, his rifle pointed at the ground. "If she's diseased, so is the gold," he said, doubt clouding his eyes. The son wanted to help, but his mother's voice halted him. "Stop, she's diseased!" The family was torn, the temptation of wealth battling against their humanity. The girl stirred, her hand reaching out in a plea for help, her voice barely a whisper. "Help me," she begged, a haunting sound that echoed in the night.
Pop nudged the girl again, her weak cry punctuating the tense air. The family was paralyzed by indecision. The son took a step forward, his heart urging him to act. "We can't just leave her," he implored, his voice breaking the silence. Mother and Sister had retreated to the cottage, their fear evident. The night seemed to close in around them, each second stretching into eternity as they weighed life against wealth.
Pop finally lowered his rifle, a decision made. "We'll help her," he announced, his voice firm and resolute. The son moved to the girl's side, his touch gentle and reassuring. Together, they lifted her, carrying her into the warmth of the cottage. The gold was left behind, glinting in the first rays of morning light as a testament to the choice they had made. Humanity had triumphed over greed, and in the heart of the night, the family found a new kind of wealth.
