It is a young girl, and a fugitive

It's a young girl, who runs tottering down the river. Her dress, in a rough cloth typical of the hill peasants, is torn in several parts, letting me see her thighs and a part of her breasts. Her face is soaked in tears, one of her hands clenched on her lower belly, and, as she approaches, I see blood drying on her legs, down to her feet.

She sees me only when we almost collide, steps back with a shriek, then falls on her knees.

"Praise the gods, you're a legionnary! The barbarians... (she waves upstream) at our farm... They got my mother and my little brother... They got me too, but I could run..."

Exhausted by suffering, fear and distress, she collapses at my feet. Horus, coming out of the bushes, runs to me with an interrogating look.