This joy laid to waste, these mountains, lakes, plains, forests, destroyed by the poison from the sky. We call it farang, it means ‘home stealer’, we call it that because it stole our home, our lifestyle. There will be no more travelling from place to place, following the season. There will be no more hunting or foraging.

‘They stole our homes, they poisoned our skies, they caused our people to die, our food sources to deplete, it’s time we fight back, we poison their skies, steal their homes, take their food, kill their people.’

‘Revenge!’ The people chant, again and again, but then we go home. Home along set paths that they laid out, home being permanent, claustrophobic, determined by them. We do nothing.

I doubt any of us have loosed an arrow for weeks, or spoken our language. I hate it, maybe even more than the others. I accept it just the same.