The girl blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes—no fear, no wariness. Just pure, open curiosity.
Altair stared back, a soft sigh escaping him. Not surprising, he supposed. She was still too young to understand the dangers of the world. Suspicion and caution hadn't yet taken root in her tiny heart.
She looked no older than a toddler—small, fragile, with limbs that were far too thin for her age. Her cheeks, which should have been plump with baby fat, were slightly sunken. And yet… she smiled. Even with hunger dulling her features, she still smiled and gnawed on the acorn clutched tightly in her little hands.
Altair's heart gave a painful twist.
"Hello, little one," he greeted softly, crouching to her level. "What are you doing here all alone?"
He didn't expect a real answer—she was far too young. The real question was, who had left her here? Did they not consider that a snake or wild animal might wander into the hollow and—
"Hungry. Eat."
Altair blinked.
She had paused her chewing and spoken in a clear, small voice. It wasn't much, but it stunned him all the same.
"You're hungry?" he echoed, voice gentle. "Then come here. I'll give you something to eat."
He extended his arms, beckoning her.
Her entire face lit up. Without hesitation, she stretched out her arms to him, the acorn still firmly grasped between her fingers. As he carefully pulled her from the hollow, his eyes caught on the thin, worn blanket tucked beneath her.
So they weren't entirely heartless. But leaving a child alone in a tree? No matter how warm the blanket, that was still cruelty.
Altair set her down on the thick trunk where he had been resting. She wobbled for a moment, adjusting to the uneven surface, before settling in with a soft hum, legs swinging in the air.
"Little one," he said, reaching out a hand. "Give me the acorn, and I'll give you real food in exchange."
She giggled and handed it over without a moment's hesitation, her tiny fingers pressing it into his palm. Her hands barely covered his fingertips.
Despite her frailty, there was a brightness in her eyes that tugged at his memory. She reminded him of the children back in his village—always clinging to his legs, laughing, chasing each other around. He had always loved being around them.
He'd once wished for a younger sibling. But his mother's health hadn't allowed it. One difficult birth had been more than enough, and so he remained an only child in a village where large families were the norm.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Altair rummaged through his pack. Most of the food he carried still needed to be cooked, but he had saved a few wild berries—red and purple, sweet and juicy. For someone this small, even a handful would be enough to soothe her hunger.
He selected ten plump berries and placed them in front of her.
"Eat slowly," he reminded her.
But the moment she popped one into her mouth, her eyes sparkled. Sweet juice burst on her tongue, and her entire face lit up.
"Mmmm! Sweet! Tasty!" she chirped, clapping her hands in glee.
Altair chuckled, watching her bounce in place.
When she'd eaten most of the berries, he pulled out a small clay pot of water and offered it to her. She took it with both hands and drank carefully, tipping the pot with practiced patience. Once done, she let out a satisfied sigh and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Now that she was fed and settled, it was time for answers.
"What's your name, little one?"
She tilted her head, blinking.
Altair softened his tone. "What do people call you? Who are you with?"
Her brows furrowed in thought.
He pointed toward the hollow.
"Who put you there?" he asked gently.
"Brother!" she chirped, legs swinging again.
Altair's eyes narrowed slightly.
A brother? She indeed have relatives too. He had thought—no, hoped—that she had been abandoned. Though that thought was cruel. If she had no one, he could have taken her with him. But if she had family… he had no right.
Still, something felt off.
"What's your brother's name?" he asked.
"Brother is Alvis! Alvis Brother!" she beamed.
"And what does Alvis call you?"
She puffed out her chest proudly. "Brother says pretty! Says Verda is pretty! Really, really pretty!"
Altair smiled. "So your name is Verda?"
"Verda! I'm Verda!" she echoed brightly.
The name suited her. But a shadow passed over Altair's face as the more serious question returned.
"When did your brother leave you here?" he asked.
She tilted her head, then glanced up at the hollow again.
"Umm… Yesterday! Brother put Verda in tree. It dark! But warm! Verda sleep!"
His jaw clenched.
She had been here since last night? Alone? With only a thin blanket?
What kind of brother would do that?
"But Verda hungry," she added, rubbing her belly. "Tummy said ouch."
Altair's hands curled into fists.
She was too thin. Too vulnerable. And yet she remained cheerful and trusting, as though the world had never hurt her.
He wanted to believe that this 'Alvis' had a reason. That maybe, just maybe, it was temporary.
But what if it wasn't?
What if she had truly been left behind?
Left to starve. Alone. In the dark.
His expression hardened, eyes cold.
If that so-called brother had truly abandoned her—
Left her here to die…
Then he had no right to be called brother by her.