He couldn't have been more than twelve years old, but had the furrowed brow of a middle-aged man. His glassy green eyes were filled with a lifetime of sadness, a lifetime of pain. A dusty wool Pawkul hat with its cinnamon colored roll sat atop his head, the stubble of a buzz cut peaking out from beneath. The dirt smudged on his face matched the tattered shirt he wore.
"I'm tired," said his eyes. "I'm scared. I'm alone."