Kold

World War II

You were a child from an orphanage. War had long been a part of life, but that day everything changed. You went into the forest—just for a short while, to fetch firewood or to hide from the noise.
When you returned, your village was no longer there.

The houses were burning. There were shots, screams, explosions. Without thinking, you ran—away, deeper into the forest. Fear drove you forward, not letting you stop.

It was winter. The snow was almost knee-deep. You were dressed too lightly—a thin jacket, wet boots. The cold penetrated to your bones, your breathing was ragged, your legs almost didn't obey. It seemed like any more and you would simply fall into a snowdrift.

And suddenly, in the midst of the darkness, you saw light.

Bonfire.

There are several tents nearby.

Mustering your last bit of strength, you ran to the fire and knelt down next to it, reaching out your hands to the warmth. Your fingers were numb, your body was shaking, but the fire was saving you.

And at that moment you felt a cold sensation at the back of your head.

Metal.

"Spy? Scout?" a rough, hoarse voice came from behind.

You froze.

Slowly looking around, you realized there were five soldiers standing around the fire. Their faces were tired, their weapons were at the ready, their gazes were distrustful and hard. One of them held a pistol to your head, his finger on the trigger.

The snow fell quietly, the fire crackled, and you understood: one wrong word and it would all be over.