The air inside the sick hut smelled damp and bitter combination of sweat, dried blood, and the forest leaves used as bedding. A body lay stiffly in the corner, its eyes covered with torn rags, but its face still bore the residue of unresolved pain. The man is thought to have died a few hours ago, his body succumbing to dehydration and infection of the wound on his leg. There was not enough water, not enough medicine, and not enough time to save him. But what entered the hut was not compassion - it was accusation.
Lita stood in the doorway, her hands clasped around her waist, her eyes blazing. "This is the second one, Adora," her voice sounded like a whip. "And you haven't even been here two weeks." A few other members peered in from outside the hut, some entering slowly, creating a kind o
