They didn't see the rescue team at first.
The sun climbed higher, dragging color back into the world inch by inch, and the kids lay scattered on the broken asphalt like windblown leaves. Some huddled against each other for warmth; others sat alone, staring at nothing, the forest still chewing on the edges of their thoughts.
Rafi barely noticed the distant hum of engines until it bloomed into the sharp rattle of tires on gravel. He lifted his head, vision tunneling through sleep-starved eyes. At first he thought it was another dream — men in neon vests stepping from white trucks, radios crackling, boots crunching over old pine needles.
Then someone shouted — real and loud, tearing through the hush like a branch snapping — and suddenly the clearing filled with movement.
One man dropped to his knees in front of Rafi, checking his pulse, shining a light in each eye. Another wrapped a foil blanket around his shoulders that felt as thin and useless as moth wings.
Past the blur of hands and voices, he saw the braid girl refusing help at first. She crouched beside the counselor, half holding him upright, half guarding him from the strangers. It took two paramedics to peel her away long enough to slip an oxygen mask over the man's battered face.
The other kids were herded gently toward waiting trucks. Blankets, water bottles, soft promises that everything would be fine now — adults repeating the same lie because it was the only spell they knew how to cast.
Someone asked Rafi for his name, then again when he didn't answer right away. He forced his mouth to work, forced words to come out that didn't sound like bark cracking in a frost.
He scanned the trees just once. They stood motionless behind the search lights and shouting men — but deep inside the shadows, something seemed to watch him watching back. No movement, no voice. Just a promise buried under the roots, patient as rot.
One of the paramedics squeezed his arm, jolting him back to the here and now. Rafi let himself be lifted to shaky feet. Someone held his elbow like he was made of glass. They asked if he could walk. He nodded. He didn't want to be carried.
Ahead, the braid girl glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye as they loaded the counselor onto a stretcher. She didn't smile — but her eyes said what her mouth couldn't yet. Still here. Still together.
He followed the line of shuffling kids toward the trucks. The forest stayed where it was, silent behind him, roots sleeping beneath the dirt. For now.
As the door slammed shut behind him and the engine rumbled to life, Rafi pressed a trembling hand to the cold window.
A final shape flickered in the mist at the treeline. Gone before he could blink it into focus.
They'd been found. Rescued. Saved.
But Rafi felt the truth tighten around his ribs like a hidden snare: the forest hadn't lost them. It had only let them go — to see how far they'd run before the roots found them again.