The boy curled against the rundown brick wall, too weak to even sit up. The pain behind his eyelids had dulled to a throb, but now his world was nothing but darkness. How long ago had it happened?

Day and night, darkness and light were all the same to him now, but he guessed that it might have been a few weeks ago. The thin cloth of his tunic did nothing to protect him from the cold winds and icy snows of the mountain winter, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted food. His home was gone; all that was left of Kanjaro Village was smoldering ruins. He had no family, and the people who cared for him had not realized he was gone until too late.

He was snapped out of his half-conscious memories by a barely audible gasp. Soft hands caressed his thin ones as someone knelt beside him. The person, a girl of about his own age, pushed something into his hands. Bread! He struggled to raise his hands to his mouth, but the girl guided them, her gentle touch a reassurance to his numb arms. One bite . . . another . . . he felt his strength returning with each mouthful.

“Th-thank you,” he gasped.

“You’re welcome,” the girl said, her voice as soft and gentle as her touch. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped a warm blanket around his narrow shoulders. Then, she supporting him, he leaning on her arm, they made their way out of the alley.