"Come here," Enoch ordered.
A filthy three-year-old clung to his sleeve, coughing charcoal and dirt into the morning air.
"She'll choke if we stand here," Enoch said, lifting her like she weighed nothing. He scanned the ruined huts behind him. Smoke curled from a collapsed roof. A woman in gray robes watched with narrowed eyes.
"Where did she come from?" the woman demanded.
"From the ash," Enoch answered. "I found her by the eastern field."
"That field was scorched by a trial-lander beast." The woman's voice held judgment. "You bring children back from that? She could be cursed."
"Bring her to the pavilion," Enoch said. He did not ask if the woman agreed. He started walking.
The toddler sniffed again and pushed her face deeper into his sleeve. She sounded small and fierce. "Food?" she mumbled.
"Food," Enoch repeated with a quieter voice.
Voices followed them all the way to the sect gate. Old men in embroidered robes clustered on the steps and traded glances.
"Enoch, you rescued a stranger? You mean to risk resources for someone with no name?" A senior elder stepped forward and folded his hands.
"She had life in her," Enoch said. He set the child down on the pavilion floor so she could sit like a child. "Her breath did not stop."
"Many beggars walk the foothills," the elder snapped. "We have mouths to feed. Our quotas are tight."
"She comes under my care," Enoch said. His tone ended the
