I could do no more than to simply clench my jaw as Anoa walked out of the tent. Every urge, every desire that I had to scream her name, to call her back, was nearly strong enough to suffocate me. There was a part of me that knew that doing something like that would be pointless, and would also be more than likely to result in a beating, one that would be delivered by no one other than the very same people who were watching us, who were standing inside of this tent while we were on our knees.
There had been more than one occasion—so many in fact, that I had lost count—I had thought their eyes to be wandering, their attention drifting somewhere other than us, but I soon realised my mistake, especially in the moments that they prevented us from escaping. And I said us, because Singe and Mar
