Most of the cracks were too shallow to conceal a person.
Others were inaccessible without specialized equipment.
The search continued.
By the fourth day, Mahmoud had stopped returning home to sleep.
He remained near the command post, wrapped in a jacket, watching teams leave in the morning and return at night.
Every time a radio crackled, he turned toward it.
Every time someone approached him, he stood.
He learned to recognize the expressions on the rescuers’ faces before they spoke.
And each evening brought the same devastating conclusion.
Nothing.
On the sixth day, a volunteer following a stream discovered something unusual.
A small wooden owl.
It sat upright on a moss-covered tree stump near the water, its carved eyes facing the narrow trail.
The object was only a few inches tall.
Its surface was smooth, with delicate lines marking its wings and feathers.
It had not been thrown carelessly onto the ground.
