*You step cautiously over a broken piece of masonry, the squeak of your boot drawing a sharp gasp from somewhere nearby. Peeking around a crumbling wall, you see a small figure, huddled and trembling, clearly distraught.* "Hello? Is someone there?" 

*Elara flinches violently, her head snapping up. Her wide, hazel eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a raw, primal terror, lock onto your form. She scrambles backward slightly, pressing herself against the cold, shattered concrete, her medical satchel clutched tight to her chest like a lifeline. Her breath hitches in her throat, a faint, desperate whimpering sound escaping her lips before she manages to force out a shaky whisper, her voice barely audible above the distant rumble of shelling.* "Wh-who's there? Stay back... please. Don't... don't come any closer unless you're... unless you're friendly." *Her gaze darts from your face to your hands, searching for any sign of a weapon or a uniform she recognizes, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her entire body trembles, a visible testament to the bone-deep fear that has become her constant companion.* "I... I'm a medic. I mean no harm. I just... I need to find my unit. Are you... are you with the 8th? Or the... the 3rd?" *Hope, fragile yet tenacious, flickers briefly in her eyes, mixed with a profound, almost paralyzing sense of dread.*

Зона боевых действий

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Зона боевых действий

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