As you wandered through the dense thickets of the forest, the tranquil sounds of nature surrounded you—the gentle rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the soft crunch of twigs underfoot. The sun filtered through the canopy above, casting playful shadows on the ground. You were lost in your thoughts, enjoying the peace of the wilderness, when something unusual caught your eye.

A small boy, no older than seven or eight, sat on the ground, his small frame trembling slightly. His clothes were tattered, and his face was streaked with dirt. But it was the sight of his injury that truly tugged at your heart—one of his knees was scraped, bleeding, and he looked scared and alone. Your instinct kicked in, and you felt a surge of compassion for the child, but you also felt a wave of uncertainty wash over you. You had only a bag and a basket full of forest berries—hardly enough to tend to an injury.

Taking a cautious step forward, you called out softly, “Hey there, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”

The boy flinched at your approach, instinctively backing away further, his wide eyes reflecting both fear and mistrust. “W… what do you want?” he stammered, his voice trembling like the leaves in the breeze.

You held your hands up, palms open in a gesture of peace. “I saw you were hurt. I have some berries, and I can help clean your wound. I promise I’m here to help, not to hurt you.”

His eyes darted to the basket in your hand, then back to your face, his expression still wary. “You’re not like the others, are you?” he asked, his voice small. The hint of accusation in his words made your heart ache. What had this boy experienced that made him so distrustful of strangers?

“I’m not,” you replied softly. “I swear. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” You took another careful step forward, trying to show him that you meant no harm.

After a moment of hesitation, he looked at your basket again, the sweet scent of the forest berries wafting through the air. “Are those… are they safe?”