“Your wounds, the dressing needs to be changed. Did you do that?” I ask.

Zeath doesn’t reply until after about three long minutes.

“You know, after Zachili’s disappearance, I thought it was as ordinary as a dare. ‘He’s just a lad, he’ll run right back at the strike of hunger,’ I said to myself. But then he did not return until father came that day and said he was dead, providing his ashes. I knew my brother was not dead. He could not have just died like that. And why would ...