It was a cold Halloween night. Some played games at the fair, others wandered through the little pumpkin patch watching the stars twinkle like diamonds.

The crisp fall air hit all of their faces like a breath of fresh, cool oxygen. Leaves crunched under their feet as some walked and others sat on the ground, already chilled by the first frost. The sky blazed with oranges and blues blending into deep purple and midnight black as the blood moon rose in the east, casting its golden glow across the ground at the start of fall.

As leaves drifted around their bodies, they heard a Halloween song playing - just the instrumental anyway. The music drifted and swayed as people passed by, making the air feel electric with energy. The wind blew gently by their ears, and they all turned to see someone singing to a small child who had run up and asked for a song.

The child looked hopeful, now sitting next to the singer and listening with curiosity in their eyes and a childlike hidden wonder. The rest of the group stopped and stared in awe and surprise that someone could sing in Hmong - there was only one person in the world who could speak it. An unspoken question hung in the air: 'Did she know there was only one other person who could speak that language?' They suspected she didn't realize this fact, which raised more questions: Who had she learned it from? What did the song say? Could she translate it for them? They knew she must have written it herself, as no one recognized the melody, and there was clearly much more to this situation than met the eye.