"You look at them carefully while I stir them a little, use your nose, focus. Stand straight and don't shake, they're not easy to disturb." Oswald said, he wore his mask like Laurel and when he approached the group, he could see their muscles tensing up, unlike the women next to them.
One of the prisoners with messy brown hair asked. "Where did you put those man's wits? Why are they cowering each time you enter this tent?"
He could see the fury in her eyes, a nearby persecutor that had no energy to fight against her heavy shackles, but the poor piece of bread she had as a daily meal wasn't enough to sustain her body and, just like the others, she had lost weight since her arrival in the gigantic camp.
The persecutor's hand reached for her emaciated cheek. It caressed its surface and slowly went down her neck.
Then the hand opened wide and grabbed the neck of the woman, strangling her harder and harder.
