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20

That's when I see the first foreigner. He is five steps away from me and holds a metal pipe in his hands.

The air has an ocher, dry smell that stings the nose.

I slowly approach him from behind.

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him like he killed my mothers...

I move forward silently, as I did when hunting rabbits without traps, and I jump, but I am caught in the air and pulled back.

It's the wounded foreigner. He smells like the chamomile I used to cover his wounds, so I recognize him without having to turn around.

The man holds me tightly. Too strong.

I am breathless. I feel crushed.

He drags me behind a rock, away from the foreigners.

I struggle with my arms and legs, but I'm small and I don't know how to fight, and he's big and much stronger than me, and he's no longer sick, just tired and hungry. I'm not a challenge. He crushes me in his huge arms.

I see dark figures approaching.

Screams in a language I don't know.

And darkness swallows me as my thoughts are flooded with
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