“Do you ever question it?”

He leans further backwards.

“No.”

The silence extends between us.

I want to say more, but I sense further probing would be detrimental.

The water of the stream gently flows underneath, accompanying the moment with its constant ripples.

Why does he do this?

“Well, I question it.”

He says nothing.

“I question it because what kind of father abandons his children? Mother needed him. I needed him. Maybe you didn’t. But I did.”

“Father was abducted.”

What?

“Abducted?”

“Prisoner of war. He made me swear to tell no one.”

I-I had no idea. Father was taken?

“You knew all this time?”

“Yes.”

We sit mere centimetres apart, but the distance feels miles away. It was impossible not to feel a twinge of betrayal hearing this.

“You should have told me.”

“You would have run after him.”

Yeah, probably. Then I would have been a prisoner too.

“Well at least I would have been with him instead of here.”

“You mean alive and well instead of tortured and humiliated?”

I was old enough to understand he was right. I was speaking irrationally, allowing my rising anger to control my speech.

I slowly unclench my hands that had curled up as I spoke.

“You’re right.”

My brother turns his head, looking at me indirectly but pointing some of his body in my direction.

“I’m telling you now because we are going to find him.”

My heart leaps out of my chest.

“Really? We are actually going? You better not be messing with me because if say that then we are really going to g-“

“Yes, sister. We will find him, we will return him and bring honour to our people. If anyone could do it, it is us. The time has come. We will strike soon.”

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”