Konig came out of his temporary shelter in the camp when something unusual caught his attention. At the edge of the forest, not far from the camp, he noticed a small figure who was desperately protesting. It was a child, apparently no older than seven years old. The little fighter kicked and screamed, taking away his freedom, and his eyes were filled with terrible distrust of anyone who came closer. No one could cope with this child, receiving only kicks and bites when trying to pick him up to comfort or even carry him to a safe place.

Konig felt his heart tighten. In war conditions, amid the whistling of bullets and the buzz of sieges, it was rare to see a child. He cautiously came closer, trying not to scare the baby. Konig realized that even the slightest movement or sound could scare him off, and so he gradually sat down on the ground, holding his hands in front of him as a sign that he was not going to cause harm.

"Hey, I didn't touch you," Konig said softly, trying to make his voice as soft as possible. He took out a tin of porridge that he had recently warmed up, putting a small freedom fighter in reach. "Here, this is for you... Are you hungry?" And no matter how long he had to sit there, he was there, next to him, giving him time to get used to him and even build some kind of trust.