With her little hand in his and her small bare feet moving at double the rate to keep up with him, the girl in the faded rose-pink dress and the tall teenage boy once again set off to follow the twisting and uneven stone path down to the shore.
In some places it is crossed by a small stream of brown-coloured water, which necessitates a short jump. Then the path narrows again, the low vegetation of bushes and mangrove closing in ominously. This is a place where it helps to know your way around.
Fortunately, 14-year-old Naing Lin Tun did, and that was probably one of the factors that saved the life of four-year-old Aye Mar the day the 'Black Wall' hit this village of seasonal migrant fishermen in the southernmost part of Myanmar's Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) Delta.
As the waters brought by the tsunami receded, Naing Lin Tun was coming down the path to the beach. Suddenly he saw the body of the little girl in the muddy, wet grass.
"I tried to see if she was still breathing, checking her pulse and there it was," Naing Lin Tun says.
"All I knew was that I somehow had to take her to the clinic, so I lifted her up over my shoulder and hurried along."
As he struggled to reach the dusty road above the village, he longed for somebody to help him.
But there was no one.
What could he do? He looked around but all he could see was a blue trailer jeep. It would be a bumpy ride, for sure, but did he really have a choice? He promptly placed the girl on the bed of the trailer and took off for the three kilometre long drive through the forest.
Near the clinic, 50-year-old Daw Khin San was about to learn that the first aid training she had received some 30 years ago was still going to save lives.
It was as though she had done it only yesterday, she says, as the memories come back: tilt the head back, open the airway, mouth tightly over the nose and mouth, then blow some quick, shallow breaths and carefully watch and wait for the chest to rise.
"Of the five children brought here, I managed to help three back to life again. It's sad I couldn't save them all but without the first aid, I wouldn't have been able to help anyone at all," she says and smiles at Aye Mar who is patiently listening.
To the people of the Ayeyarwady Delta, preparedness is a crucial issue, since they regularly have to cope with seasonal floods, water shortages and fires, as well as outbreaks of communicable diseases such as malaria, diarrhoea, measles and dengue fever.
"Training volunteers to meet the challenges is not quite the same as elsewhere. Here we must take into account that it's the same volunteers who will be responding to disasters of all kinds, not only emergency shelter and relief but also those related to health and water and sanitation," explains Joanna MacLean, Head of the International Federation's delegation in Burma.
Ma San San Maw from the tsunami-stricken island of Kaing Thaung recently joined Burma's Red Cross Society as a community volunteer. However, the choice was not easy to make.
"My husband was also a Red Cross volunteer, but I lost him in the tsunami," she says. "When I saw the uniforms after his death, they reminded me so much of him. I was sad. But after a while, I decided to fight my sense of loss and instead help the community on a voluntary basis."
Now Ma San San is on her way to the secondary school of Kaing Thaung. Inside the dilapidated building, four women are patiently waiting for a delegation from Burma's Red Cross Society to arrive. A minor ceremony is going to taking place where envelopes with 10,000 kyat (1,900 Swiss francs, or US$ 1,600) will be handed over to these women-headed households.
"When bringing in emergency assistance after the tsunami, our assessment showed that some households where worse off than others and these are the ones getting additional support," says U Saw Thein from Burma's Red Cross Society.
On 28 March a new earthquake struck northern Sumatra and triggered tsunami warnings throughout the region.
Reports via television, radio and mobile phone text messages alerted people and security measures were taken. In Thailand, for example, where pickups equipped with sirens warned people on the beach and trucks helped evacuate those who wanted to leave.
On Kaing Thaung, there are neither mobile telephones, nor trucks for evacuation. There is actually nowhere to go if a new tsunami were to strike again. Nevertheless, people are coping in their own way.
On the south-west beach, red brick stones are being dumped in a straight line as are piles of garbage. Little by little a barrier is being constructed. Here, if it ever came again, the 'Black Wall' is going to be stopped.
At least, that is the intention.
Khin Mar San, a 35-year-old widow and mother of four, still recalls the screams from the fishermen in their boats out at sea on 26 December.
"Run! Run!" they were shouting. "A black wall is coming!"
"We tried to run as fast as we could, but were trapped by the water just here," Khin Mar San says, pointing at a small wooden bridge some 200 metres from the sea.
People gather around her as she speaks. Sometimes they nod, sometimes they shrug their shoulders. On Kaing Thaung eight people vanished in the giant waves, among them three children.
"Fortunately, we all survived but the house was destroyed," Khin Mar San says quietly. Hers is one of 68 families who are going to relocate to Thit Poke, a place on the mainland where 143 houses are being built.
The government of Burma is supplying the housing material and the World Food Programme (WFP) is taking on local carpenters as part of a food for work initiative, while Burmese Red Cross Society is to provide the community's latrines.
"Of course, it's sad to leave the island," says Khin Mar San. "But to have somewhere to stay is the most important. Life has to go on."
And so it does. As the dark silhouette of a fishing boat slowly approaches the shore, a horde of children scream with joy and dive into the sea where the soft colours of the golden sunset are reflected.
While some of us tend to forget, others choose not to remember.