‘Where are you, the one who weeps?’ Mraan said in a loud whisper.
The voice continued as though its possessor hadn’t heard him.
‘Listen,’ he said again, ‘I’m here to help. But you’ve got to tell me where you are.’
‘Lost . . .’ said the voice, which seemed to echo strangely, sending a shudder down his spine.
‘Yes, but where?’ Mraan persisted.
‘Over here,’ said the voice.
Something in the timbre of the voice changed, giving away its location this time. It came from a short distance up the street, where an overturned cart lay on its side.
Checking around for any sign of danger, Mraan began making his way towards the cart.
‘Come closer,’ the voice whispered.
‘I’m coming,’ Mraan replied. He was approaching the cart now.
‘Closer . . .’
‘All right. I’m here,’ said Mraan, coming around to the other side.
It was an Elf girl, of about eleven or twelve. She was holding something in her arms that may have been a child. The girl’s stare was vacant, didn’t seem to register Mraan’s presence at all.
‘Come, we’ve got to get you out of here,’ Mraan whispered urgently. ‘There are bad things everywhere. Let’s go, now, while we can.’