Page 10 - My FlipBook

e l izab eth t ammi

his neck. It must’ve weighed a great deal, but he kept
his back straight as iron.

“Magdalena,” he drawled, casually, as if he were just
coming in from farming the fields for the day—not a
yearlong raid half a world away. His voice sounded dif-
ferent every time he returned. She could never remember
the sound of it, and even when he returned, she heard no
recognition or familiarity in it. Lena inclined her head
at him, but made no move closer. Amal did the same.
Fredrik glanced at the boy, and braced his hands on
Amal’s shoulders. “How is your mother, Amal?”

“Fine, sir.” Amal did not meet his eyes.
“Good,” Fredrik replied, but his eyes were already
focused on the village ahead. He started walking, a little
too quickly, and beckoned for Lena and Amal to follow.
Behind them, loud reunions and rushed conversation
poured over the riverbank.
Lena glanced behind her, trying to remember all

the faces of the long-absent men. The distance between
them and the tents shrank quickly. At the fringe of their
village, Lena’s mother, Val, stood with her arms crossed.
Fressa stood just behind her, wearing the same glare
across her pointed features. Lena sighed through her
nose. This was not the type of reunion she imagined
most families shared.
“Fressa. Val,” Fredrik proclaimed, in the same gran-
diose tone he’d used to greet Lena. Neither her sister

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