At sunset the muddy water was still raging below, but it had stopped rising. People began gathering on the slope of the hill. Dan had chosen this place earlier. The climb was gentle and the top was dry. From the edge of the hill there was a clear view of the ruined village below.

  No one spoke loudly. There were only whispers, quiet sobs, and the snapping of branches as someone broke wood to start the first fire. They sat in small groups of seven or nine people, just like in the old days around a hearth. Some held their children close. Others stared down the hill where their homes had been washed away in a single night. Women cried softly. Some prayed. Others simply sat in silence and stared at one point as if everything around them were a dream.

  Broken pieces of roofs floated on the water. Household items drifted past, mixed with rags and scraps. A few times the swollen bodies of drowned goats passed in the current with their eyes wide open. Now and then one of the men would stand, squint at the river, and say out loud,

  "That was a hut there. It stood right there."

  But even those words sounded uncertain, as if the speaker himself wondered whether anything had ever stood there at all.

  The women whose gardens had been closer to the river mourned the most. Their small fields had grown beans, pumpkins, and wild millet. All of it was gone. One old woman cried in despair that her house had been a gift from her husband and now nothing remained. Not the house, not the husband, not even the gift itself.

  The young hunters stared toward the riverbank where the goat pens had once stood. Only a few animals had been led away in time. The rest had drowned and were carried downstream. Those goats were not just animals. They were food, milk, wool, and a future supply of meat. Yet people were not crying only for lost food. For many families the goats had been almost like members of the household, especially for the children.

  Dan stood slightly above the others and looked down. The wind moved his wet hair. He saw everything. A boy clutching a wooden toy he had somehow managed to save. A woman gently combing her daughter’s hair as if trying to preserve some small piece of normal life. An old man holding a baby without knowing what to say.

  Dan raised his hand and called the elders together.

  "We need to set up a camp," he said. "Here. Not just for the night. For a long time. Water will come from the small stream. It is clean there. We must prepare for more rain. And for life here."

  "Forever?" someone asked.

  Dan did not answer immediately. A basket floated past in the river below and disappeared around the bend.

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  "We will stay here," he finally said, looking at the people gathered on the hill. "But not just in a camp. This will be a new permanent settlement. Before we built near the river but too low. Now we will build higher. At least ten times the height of a man above the river level."

  The people listened quietly. Some looked doubtful, but many understood that such a place could protect them from future floods.

  One of the elders muttered,

  "The wells are far below. We will have to carry water all the time. How will we live like that?"

  Dan raised his hand to stop the complaints.

  "You will manage. We will solve it. This is temporary. We will build it so the water comes to us."

  He did not explain how yet. The people were not ready for that discussion. But in his mind the idea was already forming. The river would have to feed wells at a higher level so they would no longer depend completely on the weather.

  For now they focused on building the new settlement. Streets and a central space would appear according to the plan Dan had already drawn in his mind.

  The new houses were built carefully and placed closer together. Not like the chaotic pattern of the old village. This time there was order. Everyone received a task. Some dug foundations. Some cut timber for support posts. Others carried stones from a nearby hill.

  Dan watched as something he had not seen for many days appeared again among the people.

  Hope.

  Even if the water returned, this time they would have a stronger refuge.

  The next morning a pale mist rose over the hill where the village had taken shelter. Its damp breath wrapped around the people who were exhausted after a sleepless night filled with fear and grief.

  Suddenly a figure appeared from behind the bushes.

  A man was walking slowly toward the camp, stepping heavily on the wet ground. It was Klor. His clothes were torn. His hair was dirty and tangled. His face was bruised and worn with exhaustion.

  Silence spread through the crowd as he approached. No one rushed to greet him, but every eye followed his steps.

  Dan stood in the center, watching him carefully. The warriors exchanged glances with each other. Many already understood what had happened during the terrible night.

  Klor stopped a few steps away, breathing hard.

  "I survived," he said quietly.

  His voice carried both relief and bitterness. He lowered his eyes as if he felt the weight of those he could not save and the moment when Dan had chosen to help someone else.

  The silence stretched until Klor finally took another step forward. It was his way of showing that he was still one of them.

  He told them briefly how the current had carried him away. How he had clung to branches and driftwood. How, after losing almost all his strength, he had finally reached the shore. Those who listened watched him with tense expressions because surviving such a flood seemed almost impossible.

  Dan placed a hand on Klor’s shoulder.

  "You lived through what killed many others. That takes strength and will. From now on you are the senior officer of reconnaissance."

  Klor nodded. His words were calm but clear.

  "Thank you, chief. I swear I will carry out the duties of commander with honor."

  Yet a shadow passed through his eyes. Something cold and sharp. He accepted the promotion, but deep inside he felt it as a small consolation rather than a true sign of trust.

  He turned away without waiting for more words. The warriors nearby exchanged quiet looks, and none of them could say what was truly happening inside Klor’s heart.