Fraga found you hidden behind what was once a doll's house. Right after the city was razed to the ground, the dirigibles turned their aim towards the imposing countryside manors and your home was not spared. The loud noises and the bright lights faded eventually, after what felt an eternity, leaving behind ash and smoke. In the remnants of your nursery, you crawled under the fallen wooden pillars and settled inside the miniature home. Your trembling body curled on the floor, and you grabbed your knees soothing yourself to sleep. You dream of butterflies and of warm hands holding you close.

The clan was on scavenging duty that day. The supply for parts was dire, as the constant need for machines never seem to end and anything copper could fetch pretty prices, bags of coins that would allow them a safe summer by the sea. They knew the loot will be substantial after the bombings, especially around the wealthy estates, and they embarked on the journey way before the smoke settled.

Taking over her late husband’s trade, Fraga joined them on every incursion, providing her share for the clan, not wanting to be a burden, although her knowledge of medicine was more than valued. She was indispensable to the clan and the elders protected her and allowed celibacy, even though she would still wake deep desires in many hearts.

As soon as she stepped through the rubble, the once prosperous house offered its rewards. Under the remnants of the wooden staircase, laid shards of a pendulum clock. Fraga eyed its gears and dusting them off, she carefully placed them inside the woolen makeshift backpack she carried. Heading further into the debris, she found herself in what was left of a nursery. Parts of dolls and scattered teddies stood proof that bombs don’t spare the innocents. As she tentatively touched the dusty surfaces, a sniffle interrupted the silence. Following its source, soon her eyes met yours. You were frightened and tightly clutching to your small chest what was left of a toy, you scanned the room for an escape route. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, she opened her arms, and although hesitant at first, you felt an unseen force pulling you in.

Once in her warm embrace, you dropped the toy, circling your fragile arms around her neck, prompting the woman to tighten her hold on you. She was warm and she smelled like the meadows. Her ears had shiny dangly things, just like your mommy had, and your eyes were captivated by their movements. But she was not your mom…Her black batik with bright red roses, held under it her salt and pepper braids, adorned with shiny golden coins. Her layered skirts, matching the scarf, were tightly held around her waist by a leather corset, and the black velvet hem underneath, gently brushed the tips of her brown boots. She had pins and studs and buttons all over her long overcoat, proving a wonderful distraction for your small, teary eyes and fiddly tiny fingers. But she was not your mom.

Stepping out of the rubble carrying you, Fraga instantly found herself surrounded by the scavenging party. Even beneath the layers of ash and dust, your skin was brighter than theirs, and your eyes, as teary as they were, still pierced like shards of ice through their curious looks, your bouncy curls, even if messy and covered with black smoke, still stood in stark contrast with their dark hair. Following Fraga closely, walking behind her in amazement, trying to touch your tiny reaching hand, or attempting to make you smile, the party soon reached their site.  

You were the talk of the camp already. As Fraga entered the elders’ tent, everyone else gathered around you, curious and wondering how you survived such destruction.

Starting to feel enclosed, you frighteningly took a few steps back, looking for Fraga’s gentle eyes. You could hear her voice inside the tent and as you were ready to go after her, a small hand grabbed yours. Looking up you saw two sparkles shaped like eyes. The boy tugging your arm nods his head in disapproval. Even if not much older than you, he knew you’re not allowed in. Under the clan’s whispered voices and watchful eyes, you understood, and wiping your tears with the sleeves of your once blue nightie, you stood your ground.

You measured the black-haired boy with widened curious eyes. With his warm hand still holding yours, he sat next to you, under the crowds' amused looks. Going through his pockets, meticulously searching, he revealed a shiny black river stone. The stone presented no interest to the grownups around you, but by the way, the boy was clutching it, that stone must’ve held the powers of the world. Placing it in his tiny palm, he extended it to you, proudly waiting for your reaction. Sniffling your tears back, you blinked and hesitantly took the stone, hastily clutched your hand, as if afraid someone might steal it. Peeking at your precious stone now and then, you sat patiently next to him, waiting for the woman with pretty earrings to come out.

Fraga emerged, just as your eyelids started to feel heavy. Hurriedly, she picked you up, and followed by the commotion of people, she headed towards the big fire. As night was settling in the camp, the fire lit up the forest, throwing shades of gold against the wooden frames and on the tents and caravans neatly nestled around it. The heart of the settlement, this was the place where evenings filled with joy and fiddled tunes; where men would tell their fabled stories and women would bask in their gazes, covering their laughs with the corners of their fringed batiks. It was the place where young love would steal glances of promised nights of passion and w