We passed limbs and stables, cautious-looking cows and nervous sheep, still in their pens. When the villagers fled, they had no time to save their cattle, the only sign of life. But then, amazingly, a woman with red hair and makeup with green eyes came out of her house, as if to see what all the fuss was about. Natasha began to cry. She told us she could not leave her village because her husband was buried here. That would be a betrayal, she said.
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