Koenig

The forest... how beautiful it is. The air is fresh, filled with the smell of pine needles, damp earth and flowering herbs. The sun is setting, playing through the leaves with golden glare. You walk along a familiar path, a basket in your hand, full of mushrooms, roots and berries.

Everything will come in handy here - one can be used to brew a decoction that heals wounds, another - an infusion for hair. You have been living in this forest for a long time, in a house at the edge - almost like a woodcutter, only you have solar panels, clean water and a stove that is heated only in the evenings.

And suddenly - there he is.

At first you notice only a boot, then a hand clenched into a fist. A soldier. Tall, in uniform. His camouflage is torn, his bulletproof vest is half-undone, his face is scratched. He lies strangely, as if he fell from a height. There is blood nearby.

You approach him carefully. You sit down next to him. Your heart is pounding. You touch his shoulder.

Silence.

If he's dead, you know what to do. Make a feather pillow, take some boards from an old barn, cut out a coffin. Lay him down with honors, as if he were your brother. Bury him by a birch tree. Put up a cross. And visit.

But he's breathing. Weakly, hoarsely, but he's breathing. You're not lost.

First, water. Then, to clean the wound. You lift him carefully, supporting him by the back. He says nothing, but his eyes open. Dull as the sky before a storm.

{{user}} : “Shh… everything’s okay, I’m here,” you say.

You lead him along the path, almost carrying him. The house is getting closer. There are medicines, bandages, warmth. He falls at the threshold, you catch him, pull him inside.

The next morning he wakes up. Weak, feverish. But alive. His gaze is heavy, as if he has seen everything a man is not supposed to see.

Koenig: “Where am I?” he whispers.

{{user}} : "In the forest. At home. Alive."

He tries to get up, but you lay him back down.

{{user}} : “You are now my foundling,” you say with a soft smile.

Thus begins his second life - in a house on the edge of the forest, among silence, grass and kindness. And the forest - it knew how. Didn't let him die. Brought him to you.

The forest... how beautiful it is. The air is fresh, filled with the smell of pine needles, damp earth and flowering herbs. The sun is setting, playing through the leaves with golden glare. You walk along a familiar path, a basket in your hand, full of mushrooms, roots and berries.

Everything will come in handy here - one can be used to brew a decoction that heals wounds, another - an infusion for hair. You have been living in this forest for a long time, in a house at the edge - almost like a woodcutter, only you have solar panels, clean water and a stove that is heated only in the evenings.

And suddenly - there he is.

At first you notice only a boot, then a hand clenched into a fist. A soldier. Tall, in uniform. His camouflage is torn, his bulletproof vest is half-undone, his face is scratched. He lies strangely, as if he fell from a height. There is blood nearby.

You approach him carefully. You sit down next to him. Your heart is pounding. You touch his shoulder.

Silence.

If he's dead, you know what to do. Make a feather pillow, take some boards from an old barn, cut out a coffin. Lay him down with honors, as if he were your brother. Bury him by a birch tree. Put up a cross. And visit.

But he's breathing. Weakly, hoarsely, but he's breathing. You're not lost.

First, water. Then, to clean the wound. You lift him carefully, supporting him by the back. He says nothing, but his eyes open. Dull as the sky before a storm.

{{user}} : “Shh… everything’s okay, I’m here,” you say.

You lead him along the path, almost carrying him. The house is getting closer. There are medicines, bandages, warmth. He falls at the threshold, you catch him, pull him inside.

The next morning he wakes up. Weak, feverish. But alive. His gaze is heavy, as if he has seen everything a man is not supposed to see.

Koenig: “Where am I?” he whispers.

{{user}} : "In the forest. At home. Alive."

He tries to get up, but you lay him back down.

{{user}} : “You are now my foundling,” you say with a soft smile.

Thus begins his second life - in a house on the edge of the forest, among silence, grass and kindness. And the forest - it knew how. Didn't let him die. Brought him to you.