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Malok froze, his eyes darting between the dock and the struggling Hiyan.

The young men were still talking, their voices rising as they debated the best way to secure the paddles. But Hiyan's coughing fit was growing louder, threatening to betray their hiding spot. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the dock and the dense foliage around them, freezing Malok in place. For a split second, he thought they might have been seen. Before anyone could react, a deep rumble of thunder followed, drowning out Hiyan's first few coughs. Without giving it much thought, Malok acted quickly, grabbing a handful of wet mud and pressing it to Hiyan's mouth. The cold, squishy texture shocked Hiyan into momentary silence.

Wind gusted through the trees, rustling leaves and whipping the torches at the dock into a frenzy. The flames sputtered and danced wildly. One of the men shouted, “Get those torches covered before they go out!” The men scrambled to secure their light sources.

Behind the dark bushes, Hiyan’s eyes widened in shock and panic as he struggled, clawing at Malok’s arm.

"Shut up and breathe through your nose!" Malok growled, pressing harder. Hiyan’s body spasmed in a futile attempt to push Malok away, but the mud kept him from coughing, muffling the sound.

The young men didn’t seem to notice. They were still preoccupied with covering the flickering torches, unaware of the two figures hidden in the dark.

Hiyan’s chest heaved as he tried to force air through his nose, but the pressure was unbearable. His mouth was filled with thick, choking mud, and his throat burned from the effort to swallow and breathe. He wasn’t obeying; he couldn’t. His limbs were weak, trembling, and the more he struggled, the more he could feel the suffocating weight of it all. The panic rising in his chest made it harder to fight for breath.

One of the men on the dock called out, "Did you hear something?"

The other man paused. "Probably just the wind," he said dismissively.

Malok held Hiyan there, his hand still pressed hard against his mouth, waiting for the men to look away. Every second felt like an eternity. Hiyan’s movements were growing weaker, his body trembling from lack of air, but Malok held firm, his eyes never leaving the men.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the area, but no one looked at the thickets anymore. Malok was aware of Hiyan’s movements growing weaker in his arms, yet he wasn’t ready to let go, to risk getting caught. Chief Marnoell was thinking that they were in the village, warning the women about the rising lake water. If he got caught here, he wouldn’t be able to explain his reasons without ruining the entire plan. His plans were bigger, and they couldn’t be ruined at any cost.

He waited for the lightning to be followed by thunder. When it finally came—a loud and long-drawn-out rumble capable of masking any sound—Malok acted, dragging Hiyan away from the spot, not worrying about the leaves rustling beneath them. The roar of the thunder covered any noises they made. But something else bothered him. Hiyan was heavy and unresisting, like a dead body. A deadweight straining against his flexing muscles nonetheless. His head lolled to one side.

*Is he dead?* Malok’s mind raced. For a moment, he feared he was dragging the lifeless body of his friend. But he didn’t stop. If Hiyan was indeed dead, then there was no reason to stop anymore. He dragged him away for as long as the thunder rumbled and as far as he could get him from the dock. When the thunder finally ended in silence, Malok stopped dragging Hiyan and set his body down. He pressed his thumb to Hiyan’s wrist and neck and checked his pulse.

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Hiyan was alive, barely alive, but unconscious.

Malok acted quickly. He sprinted to the stream running nearby, drenched the unmuddied part of his blanket in the water, and squeezed it all over Hiyan’s face and inside his mouth. The water seemed to bring Hiyan back to consciousness. He gulped the gushing water greedily, washing away the mud still clinging to the interior of his mouth and throat, burning his insides as it found its way in. Hiyan’s eyes burned; his nose hurt from being pinched earlier. His insides hurt as if they were on fire. Malok sprinted to the stream again to drench his blanket in the water, returned to Hiyan, and squeezed water into his mouth. After two more trips to the stream, Hiyan was able to sit upright without support. His lungs still burned. When Malok offered to squeeze water into his mouth again, Hiyan refused. “Ew! You’ve been wringing your dirty blanket into my mouth?” he croaked with disgust.

Malok pressed his lips into a thin line of mockery. “Should have left you to die instead.”

Hiyan scrunched his eyebrows, focusing his concentration on a distant memory. *Why are we here in the dead of night?* he had asked Malok while they were crossing the cremation ground. *To set up pyres,* Malok had replied.

A revelation hit him, widening his eyes in realization. “You brought me here to kill me, didn’t you? You said you were going to set up a pyre for someone. Was that for me?” His voice rose with anger, the grains of soil still rubbing against his insides.

Malok leaned away from him, scanning him from head to toe. “You’re not worth that much.” He paused and stared at Hiyan’s bony, limp leg with disgust. “Not anymore.”

Hiyan’s face shrunk in shame and humiliation. That was the first time he had ever shown his true emotions in months. He stayed silent, staring at a distant rock, avoiding Malok’s gaze at all costs. A storm was starting to brew right beneath his gaze, unknown to Malok.

Malok shuffled to his feet. “I have some work to do. You better stay here, else you’ll spoil everything for me.” He dusted his clothes of dirt with the back of his hand. Hiyan’s gaze stayed on the rock, unwavering. Malok continued. “That was a narrow escape. If not for the thunder, you might have been dead by now. I’ll be back in a moment. Rest while you can; the dawn is going to be chaotic at best.” He disappeared into the thickets again.

Hiyan’s gaze over the rock never wavered even for a second. He sat there, replaying the events that led to this exact moment in his mind.

He had been mates with Malok for as long as he could remember. He could even recall his mother thrashing him with a stick whenever he did something naughty along with Malok as a toddler. As a teenager, his father had advised and even threatened him to abandon his friendship with Malok. *It’s not working the way it should. He’ll only destroy your life,* his father had said. The entire village had criticized their friendship. Chief Marnoell had hated him to his heart’s content. But he had stuck with Malok nonetheless.

Even when Malok had stabbed him in the thigh, rendering one of his legs useless. Even when Malok had pushed him around like a puppet. Even after his entire life was ruined and had to be redesigned to fit his newly disabled body, he had still valued Malok’s friendship more than his life. But now, he could see clearly. Now, he could see what being with Malok was really doing to him. His mother was right after all. Malok had never been good at heart. His father was right after all. Their friendship had indeed ruined his life and everything he had valued in it. The village, even Chief Marnoell, was right after all.

No good would come from this friendship.

He thought about those days when he and Malok had played together, heard Calla’s stories with adoration in their eyes, dreamed of conquering the world, teased and made fun of the girls in their village as youngsters. All the moments they had spent together. All the moments he had cherished so far.

And then there was the moment Malok had cruelly ruined his body and life. The moment Malok had strangled him to avoid getting caught. The moment Malok had pressed a handful of mud into his mouth, making him swallow it. The moment Malok had rendered him half dead and mocked his worth based on the disability Malok himself had caused.

He saw clearly now who Malok truly was.

He saw clearly now what Malok was doing to him.

And he wouldn’t let Malok push him around anymore.

Worse, he would make Malok pay for his mistreatment.

His body might have been disabled, weaker than his friend’s. But his mind was still intact.

He would make Malok pay.

He would.