The next house bore no residents. It was charred ruins fallen flat onto the ground. Scraps of belongings could still be seen through the blackened wood. These were the saddest buildings, to Oliver – those without living men to see them tidied, before the builders were brought in to erect them once more.
Nila kneeled to pick up a charred bit of cloth from among the wood. She pulled, and with it, there came a cloth doll, attached by a blackened thread.
"A little girl…" she said to herself.
She went no further than that. Oliver could see what she was thinking. He attempted words of comfort, even knowing that he was never any good at them.
"There is no guarantee that she perished," Oliver said. "She might have found shelter with other family members, and not thought to check the ruins for what she had lost."
