They made camp before dawn in a hollow well off the road, too shaken and too burdened with wounded and frightened children to risk the last stretch back toward Wisnu's village in the dark. Rama set Wisnu down against a fallen log and found the leg worse than he'd first judged, the knee swollen and hot, though the young farmer managed a thin, pained laugh when Rama apologized for the rough carry down the slope. A thin wind rattled the dry leaves overhead.
"You pulled me out of that thing's grip with your bare hand," Wisnu said through clenched teeth. "I'll forgive you a bruised shoulder for that as many times as you need forgiving."
