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“We’re not here to hurt you,” I call out.
Nothing.
Then—
A rustle.
Small.
Sharp.
“There,” one of the soldiers whispers.
“I see it,” I murmur.
I step closer, careful, controlled.
“It’s alright,” I say, softer now. “You can come out.”
Another pause.
Then—
A figure shifts from behind a cluster of brush.
Thin.
Dirty.
Eyes wide.
A child.
More movement follows.
Others.
Not many.
But enough.
“They’re alive,” one of the soldiers breathes.
“Yes,” I say.
I crouch slightly, lowering myself to their level.
“You came from the village,” I say gently.
The child nods.
“Anyone hurt?”
Another nod.
“Where?”
A small hand lifts, pointing deeper into the trees.
