Damon clenched his fists. His people were prodded and shoved into a circle at the center of camp. Had it not been for the aid workers, he would have heard the threat of the men’s approach. The jungle spoke, but not when overpowered by outsiders as it had been today. He did not fault Myla’s people. He blamed himself for not being more diligent. Dressed in cloths resembling the trees, the men talked amongst themselves. Damon caught a few scattered words. Nothing that gave him any clue as to why they were there. They seemed content to hold them prisoner, as if waiting for direction. Damon knew who they waited for. John had come. The men held no prejudice. The aid workers and doctors were treated with the same callous disregard. One of the doctors lay unconscious a few feet away. Damon looked at his people, huddled together, their glances revealing a mixture of emotions. Some were angry, while others, who had finally begun to believe that peace could be found, wore their fear. Seiret knelt beside him, silent.
