The camp had sat for hours since the attack, small fires burning, the stench of death embedded on the winds that stagnated overhead. A group of men were going wagon to wagon, most burned but some still partially whole. Blood splattered the sides of most wagons left whole, as those that died, died close to where they were sitting, close to their campfires. As the group of men turned from one wagon to the next, one of them, Octavio, stopped and looked down at his feet. He realized that he was standing in a pool of blood that came up to his ankles. At the edge of the pool was another overturned wagon, partially burned like the others. Standing still Octavio looked at the wagon and noticed a faint ripple flowing outward from the wagon, across the puddle of blood. Octavio steps towards the ripple and realizes that underneath the wagon was a small hand, twitching, almost lifeless against the side of the charred wood and barely touching the puddle.
In two quick strides Octavio reaches the edge of the wagon and starts to lift it up. "Over here, I think this one may be alive" he yells. Suddenly hands were everywhere, pulling at the wagon, reaching for the small hand. Finally a small boy is pulled from the debris, moving slightly and was immediately taken away for healing.
Looking at the rest of the wagons Octavio whispers "Light help us, maybe there will be more that are alive" and starts moving towards another piece of wreckage.