Refugee Books Novels & Stories

At long last, after trekking for such a long mental time, I got to my destination. My gut was right. It was a small camp, crowded with people. I glared in awe, they seemed so peaceful as they went on their daily business. The women were taking care of the children while the men were carrying hoes and machetes into the bush. A sign inscribed “Welcome to the home of refugees.” They had created clustered homes for themselves, living on the support and protection of one another. The entrance was barricaded by sharpened tree branches, sharpened and thrusted on the ground to create the perfect defense. They had learnt the art of protecting themselves from the aliens who had taken everything away f

“How bad was it?” Tears formed in her eyes, and she wiped them away quickly, not wanting me to see. “There’s nothing left. Just… ashes and bodies. And the ones who made it out… we’re scattered. Some of us are trying to find a new home, others…” Her voice trailed off, and I could feel her pain, her broken heart, as if it were my own. The gravity of it hit me hard. Refugees. The town had become a safe place for those displaced by the war.

was the title of the book I was holding. I stole it from the restricted floors of Vermillion City's Magic Tower. "Hmmm, I think I forgot something... well since I forgot about it. It shouldn't matter, right?" … The refugees have been inside the city for a day now. Following a discussion with Wise, it was determined that their group would remain close to the southern border, close to the housing land. The immigrants were granted twenty dwellings since the baron particularly ordered that they should offer homes to the injured and starving.

Bloodthorn’s envoy left with the same arrogance she’d walked in with. The words she’d carried, the threats she’d wrapped in “truce” and “honor,” stayed behind like smoke. So did the fires. *** Refugees kept coming. Not in the flood from the first burned village, but in a steady trickle. Families with what little they could carry on their backs. Old men with haunted eyes. Children who flinched at loud noises. They all carried the same story.

Lian joked but Keane had a satisfied smile on his face. "You don't have to share more if you don't want to." "No, I want to. It's been long overdue anyway," Lian took a deep breath. "I, uhm, I was homeless for the first three years and I was cold and hungry and I wasn't earning enough from all the jobs that I took so I started doing drugs," his voice cracked as he said the last few words. "It kept me from feeling the cold and hunger and then uh-"

The clash did not wait politely for the ink to dry. A runner burst in with the panic of someone trying to be brave in front of people she admired. “Bridge Two,” she said. “Refugees. Two dozen. Maybe thirty. They’re from North Verge. They say raiders, or ‘black coats,’ burned their fields. They’re not traders. They have nothing but a plea.” The words cracked the fault line wider. Garret’s chair scraped back. “We promised gates. We promised to be more than our fear.”

Over time, I crossed borders into more than five countries, never staying so long in one place. I lived in refugee camps, and some kind souls even offered me shelter, but their intentions soon turned sinister. Men wanted to rape me and women I soon realized they would do anything to save themselves. So I stayed alone, that was until I met Charles Clavelen in a dark corridor. We didn't start off great, I intended to rob him, but instead, he offered me everything he had.

Instead, I felt nothing. The displaced wolves arrived at Black River’s gates in a long, quiet line. They carried whatever they could fit in one bag. Children cried. Adults walked in silence, faces tight with shock and resentment. Refugees from my orders. Helena had set up a station near the gate. She made sure everyone got assigned shelter, food, and bandages if needed. From the wall I watched Petra moving among them, helping settle families even after everything she’d said yesterday. Maybe she understood more than she let on.

The subordinate stood to one side, looking worriedly at his left hand, from which blood was continuously dripping. “Go back.” “Yes.” The subordinate lowered his head and added, “By the way, Mr. Wordsworth, I asked around about the rules for smuggling flights. To avoid being discovered, all refugees are crammed into a compartment at the very bottom of the cargo plane. And once someone is found causing trouble or getting into a conflict, they’ll be thrown off immediately.” The lives of smuggled refugees were not considered lives.

Zion was out on patrol with Jake and Lucienne and they would take care of it, but it was strange to hear that there were refugees near their border. What were the wolves running from? Where were they running from? Gabriella hadn’t heard any news of neighbouring packs being attacked recently! She made quick work of checking in with her allies while the others brought the refugees to the pack house. They were taking a gamble on allowing them in, but Lucienne assured her that these wolves weren’t rogues and, from what Lucienne had explained, they really needed help.