She strains her eye, hoping to see the Golden Flag that signals Victory. She would even take the White Flag of Surrender, though she would die before uttering that thought aloud. Her heart stops as her eye catches an imagined swath of Red; every village woman’s fear. They will whisper about it in small groups of twos and threes.
Of the Black Flag, no one ever speaks. No one. Ever. No one even thinks it, but it rests in the subconscious; a shadow of unnamed terror.
There are other Flags of difference color combinations and symbols; explaining at a glance a score of different possibilities. She knows them all well, and she also knows that information coming back is often garbled. Rather than reveal every rumor, the Village Council has decided to only post what they can confirm, and it is common not to see the first Flag change until the afternoon wanes.