Three weeks.

Three weeks since we left the forest behind, since we became outsiders all over again.

Below, I can see Lo'ak already in the water, attempting to mimic the Metkayina boys' swimming strokes. He's always been the first to throw himself into anything new. Neteyam stands on the sand, arms crossed, scanning the shoreline with that watchful intensity he's carried since we were children.

A shadow falls over me.

Below, a familiar trio emerges from the water. Aonung at the center, his two sycophants flanking him. He's looking up—looking at me.