It’s dark inside the hut. Flies buzz near your leg. The pain is real. The bandage is made from leaves and sap. A tall man stands in the doorway, bow slung over his back, eyes watching you. A younger girl crouches nearby, mixing herbs. She doesn’t speak. No one does.

Then the man finally says, in broken English: “You bled with us. Why?” You don’t have an answer. The girl looks up. “Are you ready to finish what you started?”