The sergeant put his fingers to one of the children's necks. He was no stranger to war, and all its atrocities. It was not the first time he had seen children fall victim to great evil – though he had never quite seen it in this way.
"This one's alive," he informed them, before moving on to another. "And this one too."
Beam watched, allowing him to work. His feet were near rooted to the spot, as he gazed around the room.
It was nearly as big as the Elder's main house, with damp stone-brick walls enclosing a thoroughly dismal place. It seemed more a corridor than a room, with the children lined up with their backs against the walls on either side.
There was a door at one end – a thick door, but the wood seemed rotten. With the children arranged as they were, in a thoroughly twisted sense, it seemed as though they were guards lined up in a welcome of a king, as a man of great power walked his way towards his throne.
