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I was home now, safe, and I could stop pretending I had it all together.“God, Emma, what happened?” James asked, his voice full of concern.“Everything,” I cried.Upon seeing me and the disaster I had made of our kitchen, his amusement had turned into worry and he rushed to wrap his arms around me. He gave me a tight, reassuring squeeze and I traded my frustration for an intense need for comforting from the man I loved the most. I sagged in my husband’s firm embrace, and James let me break down completely and just sob like that until enough of the day’s heartache had been poured out.“I hate the police,” I eventually hiccuped, breaking the physical contact.“No, you don’t,” James chuckled.He reached out his hands, cupping my cheeks, wiping away the wetness.“Maybe,” I pouted, “but right now I don’t like them one bit. They’re all useless and uncaring.”“Can you tell me what happened, my love?”I took a deep breath.This was hard for me to talk about, especially with him.Especially with him. The tales of woe and pillage uninterested Beci, but she stayed to listen nevertheless. She would often leave those sessions with a sense of dread in her heart. The Dani were getting closer and closer to her village and preparations were being made to move everyone Northwards, not that that would have made any difference, she thought.But it was the other stories those wanderers told that interested Beci more.One evening, a horse wandered into their enclave, its rider slumped over the reins, dazed and only just alive. His hair matted in blood, big gashes on his arms oozed blood despite the tourniquet he had wrapped about them. Yet he was alive. His wounds were tended and he survived to tell his tale.A few nights later, when the wanderer had regained enough strength, he sat in the roundhouse to recount the events of a raid on his village. It was one of dread, with death waiting around every corner.“And then, I saw the woman, faced with three of the Dani, two of them holding her by the.
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