We Are Wolves chapter sampler

We turn the corner and see a column of soldiers marching along our street. No. Not marching. They are straggling. Some are carried on stretchers. Mama cries out. She drops her basket to the ground and her hand flies to her mouth. We creep forward. We stand so close to the passing soldiers that we can smell sour sweat, burned metal, fear. Heads, hands and knees are wrapped in bandages. Not clean white bandages like we use in first-aid practice at school, but muddy, stained rags. Eyes are dull. ‘Poor boys,’ Mama murmurs. ‘What have we done to you?’ We? I think. No . What have they done to you? A man being carried on a stretcher reaches out and grabs Mama’s skirt. His hand is filthy and there’s blood beneath his fingernails. I want to tell him to let my mama go. But Mama steps forward and places her hand gently on his cheek. ‘Frau,’ he whispers, ‘it is bad. Far worse than they are telling you.’ He’s carried on before he can say more. ‘What does he mean?’ I ask. But Mama says nothing. We stand in silence and stare as the soldiers limp by. One or two nod in our direction, but most keep their eyes forward or down to their boots. They are so very different from the brave young men who gave Otto and me the chocolate.

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