The sun had set. It was the time of day, creeping in between noon and night. Myrid had brought Castar and Era home. Even as Ogrida pretended her thoughts were with her granddaughter about bringing strangers to the house, she wondered if her house was becoming a motel. She did not respond, but the thought never left her mind. Several times she wanted to talk to Myrid about it, but thought she should respect her reasons.

She knew Myrid too well to know that she could only make responsible decisions, and if she trusted her, she would walk into an ocean if Myrid told her it was the right thing to do.

Castar sat on the bed and Ogrida cleaned the blood off him. As she cleaned him, she kept wondering why people would not stop attacking such a humble boy. She thought for a few moments before she thought it was okay to ask him the same question.

“Son,” she said to him as the pile of cloth sucked in warm water from the bowl that stood between Castar’s palms.

“Why you? Why do not they stop chasi