This is Iman’s third day in the hospital bed. The usually happy, rumbunctious two-year-old has pneumonia and a chest infection.

Mohammed, age 13, still dreams of becoming an architect, even while lying in a hospital bed. Originally from Aleppo, he has seen his favourite buildings completely destroyed.

Back home in Damascus, Ralia,7, and Rahaf, 13, lost their mother and brother to a grenade. For a year, they’ve slept on the streets of Beirut, where they fled with their father.

Amir was born a refugee. Although he is almost two years old, his mother says he has never spoken a word. She believes he was traumatised in the womb.

Walaa, 5, wants to go home. She had her own room in Aleppo, she tells us. There, she never used to cry at bedtime. Here, in the refugee camp, she cries every night. Resting her head on the pillow is horrible, she says, because nighttime is horrible. That was when the attacks happened. By day, Walaa's mother often builds a little house out of pillows, to teach her that they have nothing to be afraid of.

While the adults make plans to evade the authorities in Hungary, Ahmed, 6, sleeps in the grass. After his father was killed in northern Syria, Ahmed has been walking with his family, carrying his own bag.

One-year-old Sham is cradled by his mother, only inches from the closed Hungarian border. The day before, they narrowly missed getting onto a train taking refugees to Austria.

A bomb destroyed Lamar’s home in Baghdad, but she still remembers her toys. With her family, she crossed the sea from Turkey into Hungary and now sleeps on a blanket in a cold forest.

Two-year-old Fara left behind her home as well as her true love—soccer. Her father tries to keep her love for the sport alive by crumpling anything he can into a ball.

Mahdi is a year and a half old and has only known war and flight. While he sleeps, hundreds of refugees around him argue with Hungarian police at the border. When he wakes up, the police will assault the refugees with tear gas and water cannons.