An orphan in the deep forest saved a tied man, not knowing who he really was

Thought I’d be found quickly, negotiations would start. But something went wrong.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Guess I’m not as valuable as I thought.”

Emily listened without interrupting. His words rang true, but something remained unsaid. “And you?” he asked quietly.

“Why are you alone in the forest?” “I lived with Grandpa,” she answered after a pause, gesturing vaguely toward the eastern slope. “He died.

Four days ago. I went to find help and got lost.” James exhaled.

The girl’s grief was simple and deafening in its clarity. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Very sorry.”

Emily shrugged. He was old. Said he’d go soon.

I just didn’t think it’d be so fast. She pulled a piece of dried meat from her satchel and broke it in half. “Take it,” she offered half to James.

“We need strength. Long road ahead.” “We?” He looked at her with hope.

Emily nodded and drew the knife from her pocket. The blade glinted dully in the sun. “I’ll free you.

But you’ll help me get out. To people.” “Deal?” James nodded.

“Deal.” She approached and began sawing the ropes. They were thick, tough, and the knife moved slowly.

Emily worked silently, focused. When the last rope gave way, James slumped to the ground with a groan. His legs wouldn’t hold after hours of immobility.

“Give me a minute,” he muttered, rubbing his wrists. Deep red welts on his skin looked painful. Emily stepped back a few paces, knife still in hand, ready to defend if needed.

“How old are you?” James asked, stretching his stiff muscles. “Nine.

Almost ten,” she added proudly. “And you live?” “Lived in the forest all my life.” “As long as I remember?” “First with Mom and Grandpa.

Then Mom left for the city when I was little and never came back. Just me and Grandpa.” James rose unsteadily.

“We need to go,” he said, looking around. “Which way’s the nearest town?” “You know?” Emily shook her head. Grandpa knew.

“I don’t. We rarely went to people. Maybe once a year.”

James frowned. The situation was worse than he thought. “I have a compass,” Emily said, pulling out the worn metal case…

“Grandpa said the main road’s south.” “Good,” James nodded. “Then we head south.

But first…” He looked at his ruined shoes. “We need water.

And food, if possible.” “I know a place,” Emily said. “Old hunting cabin nearby.

There’s a stream. Maybe cans if hunters left some.” She turned and walked ahead, confident he’d follow.

James limped after her. A strange pair moved through the forest: a small figure in a worn jacket too big for her frail frame, and a tall man in a torn suit, bruises on his face, hair disheveled. The cabin was a sagging shack with a leaky roof, but even this refuge felt like a blessing after a night in the open.

Inside smelled of dampness and old wood. A crooked stove stood in the corner, next to a rough-hewn table and two benches. “Hunters stop here,” Emily explained, looking around.

“Grandpa said you should always leave something for the next traveler. Matches, salt, cans.” She began checking shelves and drawers methodically, like an adult.

James watched her with growing amazement. This nine-year-old knew more about survival than he did in his whole life. “Found some!” she exclaimed, pulling out a dusty can of stew and a matchbox. “Salt too. Even tea.”

James sank onto a bench, exhaustion washing over him in waves. “You’re incredible,” he said quietly. Emily shrugged.

“Normal. Just grew up here.” She stepped out and returned with an armful of kindling, starting the stove.

Her movements were confident, practiced. Soon the stove crackled, and water boiled in a soot-stained pot on an improvised stand. “You said you have a company,” Emily said, not turning.

“Big?” James nodded, then realized she couldn’t see. “Yes, fairly big. Over two hundred people work there.

And they all listen to you?” “In theory,” he chuckled. “In practice?” “Not always. Like those who tied me up?” James’s face darkened.

“It’s complicated to explain. Adult games. Money—power.

Sometimes people betray those they should thank.” “That’s not complicated,” Emily countered. “That’s stupid.”

James laughed, the first time in days. “You’re right. It’s stupid.”

Emily opened the stew can with her knife and dumped it into the pot with boiling water. Added a pinch of salt and dried herbs from her satchel. Grandpa said food should bring joy, even if there’s little.

James watched her conjure the makeshift soup, feeling something shift inside. For years, he chased big things—money, status, power. Now he sat in a broken cabin, his life depending on a nine-year-old who spoke simple, vital truths.

“Do you have family?” Emily asked suddenly. “In the city?” James flinched.

“A son?” “Ethan. He’s sixteen.”..