In the bustling town of Karimnagar, where the Manair River sparkled like a ribbon of silver under the Telangana sun, lived a spirited ten-year-old girl named Maya. With her curly black hair tied in two braids and a smile as bright as the jasmine flowers in her mother's garden, Maya was the leader of the Adventure Squad—a fearless gang of neighborhood kids. There was Ravi, her eight-year-old brother, who could climb any mango tree; Priya, nine, with eyes sharp as a hawk's for spotting secrets; and little Arun, seven, whose pockets always bulged with marbles and half-eaten guavas.

Every afternoon, after school, the squad gathered under the old banyan tree near the riverbank. Karimnagar was their playground: dusty streets lined with paan shops, the hum of cycle rickshaws, and the distant call of temple bells from the ancient Kaleshwaram shrine. "Today, we conquer the wild!" Maya would declare, waving a stick like a sword. But one sweltering Tuesday, their adventure took a turn no one expected.

As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in oranges and pinks, the squad pedaled their rusty bikes toward the river for a game of kabaddi. Laughter echoed as Ravi teased Arun about his wobbly pedaling. Suddenly, Priya slammed on her brakes. "Shh! Listen!" she whispered. From the thorny bushes by the water's edge came a faint, heartbreaking bleat—like a cry for help.

They crept closer, hearts pounding. There, tangled in a mess of barbed wire from an old fence, lay a small goat. Its white fur was matted with mud, and one leg stuck out at a funny angle, swollen and bloody. The poor creature's big brown eyes pleaded with them, its sides heaving with shallow breaths. "Oh no," Maya gasped, kneeling down. "It's hurt! Look at that leg—must be broken from trying to escape."

Ravi's face crumpled. "We can't just leave it. Mama says goats are like family; they give us milk and pull carts." Arun, usually the bravest in pretend battles, hid behind Priya, peeking out. "But it's scary. What if it bites?"

Maya straightened up, her braids swinging like pendulums. "No biting today, Arun. This goat needs heroes, and that's us! Squad, emergency meeting!" They huddled under the banyan tree as the evening breeze rustled its leaves. Priya, the thinker, suggested, "We need water first. And bandages. My grandma has turmeric paste for wounds." Ravi nodded. "I'll get Papa's gloves so we don't get pricked by the wire." Arun, wiping his nose, added shyly, "I can... I can hold the rope if we free it."

With a plan hatched faster than a street vendor flips dosas, they sprang into action. Maya led the charge back to town, her bike basket overflowing with Priya's scarf (for a sling), a bottle of river water, and a handful of fresh neem leaves from the temple path—good for healing, or so the old aunties said. As they raced through Karimnagar's lanes, dodging cows and honking autos, Maya shouted encouragements: "Faster, Ravi! Imagine the goat's thank-you dance when we're done!"

Back at the river, the light was fading, fireflies twinkling like tiny lanterns. The goat bleated weakly, struggling against the wire that dug into its flank. "Easy, friend," Maya cooed, slipping on the gloves. Her hands trembled a bit— she was brave, but this was real. "Squad, on three: Priya, distract it with water. Ravi, hold the bush back. Arun, be ready with the scarf."

"One... two... three!" Priya trickled water near the goat's mouth, its tongue flicking out gratefully. Ravi yanked the thorns aside, grunting like a wrestler. Maya snipped the wire with Papa's garden shears—snip, snip—careful not to nick the skin. But oh, the climax! As the last twist gave way, the goat lurched forward in panic, its injured leg buckling. It tumbled toward the river's edge, straight for the slippery mud!

"Gotcha!" Maya dove, wrapping her arms around its woolly neck just in time. They rolled in the soft grass, a tangle of limbs and fur, the goat's warm breath puffing against her cheek. The squad froze, then cheered as Maya sat up, muddy but triumphant, cradling the trembling animal. "We did it! Look—it's free!"

But the rescue wasn't over. The goat's leg needed fixing. Priya smeared on the turmeric paste, golden as the sun, while Arun gently bound it with the scarf-sling. "You're a warrior goat," he whispered, stroking its ear. Ravi fetched sweet jaggery from his pocket— "For strength!"—and the goat nibbled it daintily, its eyes softening.

As stars dotted the sky like scattered diamonds, the squad carried their new friend on an old cart borrowed from a nearby farmer. "We'll call you Raja," Maya decided. "King of the River." They wheeled him to Priya's backyard, where a cozy shed awaited with hay and a bucket of milk. Word spread like wildfire through Karimnagar—kids whispering to parents, aunties clucking in approval. By morning, the vet from the market arrived, thanks to Maya's note scribbled on a palm leaf: "Please help Raja. Squad heroes."

The vet examined Raja, nodding. "Good work, little ones. That wire could've been fatal, but your quick thinking saved him. Leg will heal in weeks." Maya beamed, her squad gathered around like proud peacocks. Arun even hugged Raja goodbye—well, sort of; the goat licked his hand instead.

From that day, the Adventure Squad had a mascot. Raja hobbled at first, but soon trotted beside their bikes, bells jingling on his collar (a gift from the grateful farmer). They learned that bravery isn't just swords and dragons—it's a gentle hand in the dark, a plan born of kindness. And in Karimnagar, where rivers sing and temples watch over all, Maya's tale became legend: the girl who led her friends to rescue a goat, proving that even the smallest heroes can mend the biggest hurts.

As the monsoons came, washing the town in silver sheets, the squad sat under the banyan, sharing stories. "Next adventure?" Ravi asked. Maya grinned, eyes on the horizon. "Whatever comes. But always with heart."