When the White Army came, we saw them through the slats. Bizarrely, mother worried the soldiers would loot our already desecrated home. We heard voices - not Russian but Czech or some Polish dialect.
I tried to cry out, to tell them we were loyal to the Tsar, but the dozen rifles pointed at us stole my voice.
My breath smoked in the moonlight that pierced the darkness of the shed. Even then, the children didn't utter a sound.