Umbra’s hand brushed the thorn of a weed nestled in the rice plants. It left a gash in her skin. Her blood dripped into the paddy’s water, staining the soil below. She took her rusty knife from its holster, quietly cursing the pain in her hand, and hacked away at the weed before picking the rice again.
She worked in her little patch of the nursery paddy, where the rice plants had grown from seeds into small spuds over the past month. Her sack was nearly full of infant rice plants. Huffs and yawns drifted through the humid air and mingled with the stirrings of nocturnal creatures, while her people worked under the fast-setting sun. Umbra yawned the loudest—under-rested and thoroughly exhausted as she was.
The horn finally sounded to signal the end of another day of hard labour. The workers each threw their sacks of rice onto the wooden cart, one after the other, and left the fields. All were eager to go home for their second meal of the day. Adorjan, the overseer of the paddies, stood by the cart as they did so, and he was the only one with any zeal left to show. He offered praise and received only grunts or feeble thanks in return.
‘Are you trying to break the cart with this much rice?’ he said when he took Umbra’s sack and threw it over his shoulder with exaggerated effort.
‘Do you need me tomorrow?’ Umbra asked.
‘Nope. We should be getting our fish tomorrow, so no one will be working. I’ll get this cart to the main paddy, and we can start planting there the day after. Get some food and sleep. No offence, but you look like you need it.’
‘Goodnight, then,’ Umbra mumbled, then she turned to take her leave.
‘Hold it,’ Adorjan called after her. He held a small pile of rice from her sack, sprinkled with red. ‘I wasn’t aware that rice could bleed.’
Umbra shrugged. ‘It was just a weed. I hacked it up.’
Adorjan smiled again. ‘Then justice was served. Let me see your hand.’
The wound was dark, and the bleeding had already subsided. ‘It was only a thorn,’ Umbra said. ‘It hurt a little, but it’s fine now.’
‘Let Vada see it all the same,’ Adorjan said, tossing the blood-splattered rice back into Umbra’s arms. ‘The last thing I need is for one of my best workers to get infected right before we plant in the main paddy.’
Umbra made her way in the general direction of her home. She walked toward the island’s western shore, down a hill overlooking the sunset and the sea. She already felt a chill in the evening air, though it was not yet dark. This was her favourite time of day—the hour of sunset when the stars began to appear. It was the time when she was left alone, and most of her kin were already home for their fish and rice. For a little while, until she was expected back home too, she had the little world of her island for herself.
She wandered, letting her feet decide the way. She didn’t feel like climbing the cliff faces today or straying too far from home. She was growing hungry and didn’t want to make a long trek for dinner. This evening called for some relaxation in sweet solitude while watching the orange sky turn black.
The beach called out to her this time. She clambered across rocks peeking out of the sea to sit in her favourite spot. It was on a shore covered by the shadow of Burial Hill, where she was watched over by the wooden burial figures at its peak. She sometimes pretended they were watching the sky with her, or that she was eavesdropping on a secret conversation of theirs. She was too young to have met any of the people the figures immortalised, for most had died long before she was born, so she made up her own personalities for them. One always slept, one always argued, and one always laughed. As she grew older, it dawned on her that she had based some of them on islanders she knew. It was a fun game to play sometimes, but today she only wanted to relish the ocean’s salty breeze on her face and the tickle of the sand on her skin.
Not much time passed watching the ripples of the dying sun on the waves until she realised she still had bloodied rice plants in her hand. She tossed them as far into the water as she could, which was barely far enough for the waves to grab them and slowly carry them away. She watched it float away on the sea’s calm ripples until it vanished into the deep, washing her bloody hand in the water as she did so. It stung, but it stopped bleeding quickly.
Only when the sun fully set did Umbra pry herself away from her perfect peace and carry herself home. Umbra had salted mackerel and seaweed for dinner that she fried in her stone cooking pot atop an open fire. The scent was alluring and always lingered in her home long after the meal had been eaten. Umbra could smell lemongrass as the mackerel roasted on the fire, which Adorjan must have picked and added to the day’s rations. That little touch added some novelty to the otherwise ordinary meal. She filled two wooden bowls with rice, seaweed and mackerel, then filled two cups with water from an almost empty bucket.
‘It’s ready,’ she said.
‘Hm. So am I.’ Varyis, her father, lay on his floor-bed with his long and unkempt hair flailing out around him. He sat up with effort and accepted the portion she offered. The bowl shook in his hands a little more gently than the night before. Umbra thought he had more strength than most evenings, for he could sit up and eat unaided. His mood seemed better for it. She left the cup of water by Varyis’ feet.
‘Adorjan gave us some lemongrass,’ she said.
Varyis grunted through his first mouthful, his lip trembling each time he swallowed. ‘Working tomorrow too?’
‘No, the day after. We’ll be planting the rice in the main paddy.’
Varyis grunted again, battling with the chopsticks shaking in his fingers. ‘Your hand,’ he said.
Umbra looked down at her palm. The gash looked far worse than it felt. ‘Just a cut from a thorn.’
‘Clean it in the sea after you eat.’
‘I already did.’
Umbra ate a mouthful of food and watched her father sitting on his floor-bed with his head bowed and his long, locked hair hiding his face. She had almost forgotten the sound of his voice. She was used to hearing his grunts or groans of pain on the bad days. His skin had become pale after so many years spent in the shadows of their tiny hut with only candlelight to warm him. Umbra took another bite. The mackerel was rich in flavour, and the salt in the rice was heavy, making it hard to swallow. She heard a clattering sound beside her. Her father’s cup had fallen and spilt its contents on the ground. Varyis’ fingers shook as he watched the cup roll by his feet. Umbra quickly finished the water in her own cup.
‘I need more too,’ she said. She took the empty cup from the ground and reached for the almost-empty bucket of water. But there was another clattering sound—her father’s bowl fell from his fingers too and hit the ground with a hollow ring, spilling out its contents. Both his hands shook violently. Umbra sighed as she saw her father’s head drop.
‘You can have some of—’
‘Just…’ her father said. ‘Just get out.’
‘Father, I can—’
‘Get out. Get out.’
Varyis kicked the bowl with what might have been all his strength. It slid along the ground with a chime and tapped Umbra’s foot. She didn’t hesitate. She filled her father’s cup with water, placed it at his feet, and left the hut. She took the rest of her meal with her.
The sky had turned into a blend of black and deep violet since Umbra had gotten home. She walked along the calm sea tide outside her home until she found a spot on the beach where her hut was out of sight. She quietly finished her meal. She looked out over the sea at the pale white moonlight rippling on it and the islands in the distance. Every moment alone was peaceful, playful, or whatever she wanted it to be. Nothing ever imposed on her little world. Not until tonight.
Umbra noticed a subtle change in the sky after she ate her last bite—there was a crack of vibrant green light far above, as though part of the sky were torn in two. It grew brighter and brighter, but never more than a subtle glow. It might have gone unnoticed if not for how alien the tone of green was. Umbra was enthralled and utterly baffled. It looked lonely, like a solitary flame in the dark. It flickered and pulsed like an unsteady heartbeat and cast a subtle green reflection upon the sea. The longer she looked at it, the more she realised how colossal this crack in the sky was. Umbra watched in a trance of awe. It was utterly captivating for the brief time it shone.
The light soon dissolved into darkness. It left nothing in its wake but the normality of a clear night. Umbra waited a while longer, keeping her eyes keenly on the sky, but the light never appeared again. The rest of the night passed like many others—Umbra watched the sea until it became too cold on the beach to stay out, and then dragged herself home again.
Her home was dark and quiet. Her father sighed in deep sleep. The smell of mackerel still lingered, and only remnants of the spilt meal were left on the floor. Her father’s bowl was empty, and the spoils of fish oil and seaweed were still on his fingers. Umbra felt guilty as she realised he had eaten his spilt meal from the floor. He had to do that because I left him hungry, and I didn’t give him my bowl. Umbra decided to apologise in the morning if her father were awake before she left.
Umbra quietly lay on the bare floor as far from her father’s mat as she could. Sleep did not find her swiftly that night, as a mixture of guilt for her father and fascination for the strange green glow kept her awake. That same light eventually led her to a sound sleep and followed her into her dreams. She dreamed of fishing on the open sea under the light of a bright green moon.
Umbra woke up to a bright orange sun piercing her eyelids and heat on her skin. It was close to midday, and she had already made good use of her day of rest. She heard music being expertly played outside. She rose from the floor and changed from her sweat-drenched rags into her other tattered garments while her father still slept. Umbra drank half of the lukewarm water left in their bucket and then stepped out of the hut with an empty woven food sack in her hands.
Some of the islanders sat on the beach where Cadeo stood playing his t’rung. His long, locked white hair clung to his back in a woven sack as he played to the sea and smiled. It was the same unnamed melody he played every day that the fishermen had a haul to share. Umbra named it The Wandering of Fishermen, since its purpose was to guide the fishermen back to the island shore. Umbra used to imagine herself as the one at sea for whom the song was played. She imagined being out there, filling fishing nets, sweating under the hot sun, and sailing back ashore to a beautiful song welcoming her home. That romantic daydream lasted only until she was old enough to learn the song’s purpose. Then it became only another practical facet of her weekly routine.
Umbra had also learned why the song was created from Vada, the herbalist. She had shared a story with Umbra that the oldest islanders had told her—about a dense fog on the island and sea that caused the fishermen to lose their way back home. Some stayed lost and were never found again, and were immortalised in songs and wooden figures on Burial Hill. Umbra had heard many stories about what may have happened to those fishermen lost at sea and about old islanders who wandered too far from the shore, only to be caught in an angry wave or to lose sight of land. The song Cadeo played was now for little more than tradition maintained for decades, as there had been no fog in years and no one had been witless enough to sail or swim ahead of an impending storm. The fishermen could find their way back home fine now, with or without the song to guide them. It was especially pointless now that Cadeo had only begun playing The Wandering of Fishermen when the boats were already in sight of the shore. But, Umbra was glad that the song was still played, as it was pleasant to her ears and nostalgic even still as a youth.
Two boats presently floated far out on the sea. Umbra joined her islanders on the shore and quietly waited for the fishermen to return home from their voyage once more.

Cadeo’s arms ached with each note he played. The two sticks felt heavier in his hands every time duty called upon him to play this melody, and he had lost count of the years he had persevered in playing through the exhaustion of an ageing body. Even still, the sight of the fishermen drawing closer to his people in the morning made up for it. A smile never failed to touch his lips as he played, and it only got brighter whenever the young fishermen’s feet touched the sand.
The boats carrying the fishermen were close enough to the shore for Cadeo’s ageing eyes to see the fishing nets aboard. They held fish, but the nets weren’t as full as usual. He kept playing the song until their boats touched the sand and the fishermen dropped their anchors. His people’s silence was broken as they got up and gathered around the boats with their empty food sacks in hand, while Nghi coated their fish in salt. But this morning, they were far more aggressive than usual. They shoved each other to get their share of fish first, and some demanded bigger servings. Adorjan jumped onto a boat’s bow, calling out instructions and bringing some semblance of order to the people. He and the two fishermen gave the islanders each their fair share of the spoils. We will soon be coming to the end of our rice reserves, Cadeo reflected. And the people are conscious of it.
One fisherman named Quy argued with Ruhan, the man Cadeo considered to be as close as a son.
‘It’ll be a miracle if this thing sails again without the whole hull falling out,’ Ruhan said. He was a stern and harsh-looking man with an unkempt beard and thick, locked hair. His body was tanned and muscular, and he had eyes that effortlessly uneased anyone they were set on. ‘You can’t neglect it much longer until you go sinking to the depths with it.’
‘If that happens, so be it,’ Quy said. He was a comparatively small and slight young man and did not speak as measurably as Ruhan did. Everything about him was the antithesis of Ruhan—even Quy’s locked hair was thinner than his. Quy was not an imposing man, but was well respected on the island for his work ethic and undying optimism. ‘Regardless, you’re not laying one finger on her, Ru.’
Quy left Ruhan to grumble and look over the state of his boat with disapproval. Cadeo thought that he could hardly be blamed. Cadeo had given the boat to Quy years ago, long after he had given up on sailing himself and shortly after Quy had come of age to learn the art. Quy clearly hadn’t let Ru touch it since his first sail. That was especially evident beside Ashan’s boat, which was practically immaculate and looked able to sail easily amid any storm.
Quy bowed his head to Cadeo and rose with an expression that was at odds with his usual relaxed demeanour. He was young and always full of vigour. Cadeo had much affection for him, perhaps more than any besides Ruhan and Gratus, though he would never admit that he had favouritism among his people. Quy had a slim, tanned body, and most of his skin had been covered with beautiful and vibrant tattoos. Cadeo’s tattoos had become duller with age, and seeing Quy’s reminded him of his youth. It made Cadeo’s heart glad to know that there were still those who took traditions like tattoos to heart and that they would likely remain with his people long after Cadeo was gone.
‘A word, please?’ Quy said to Cadeo, dispensing with his usual courtesies.
‘Something the matter, child?’
‘I fear so.’
‘Well, carry the t’rung for me, if you’d be so kind. We can talk on the way to my hut.’ Quy’s steps beside Cadeo were slow, and the wooden instrument weighed heavily on his back. He had the look of a man whom sleep had been eluding.
Cadeo tightened the sling around his torso and cradled his share of fish in one hand. His long, locked hair was held in a bundle on his back. It was another burden he was proud to bear, as his hair was the longest and heaviest among his people—a worthy reflection of his many years of life and the wisdom it afforded him.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ Cadeo asked once they were away from the others.
‘Something strange happened at sea,’ Quy said. ‘Very strange. Perhaps a bad omen. I fear that hard times may soon come upon us.’
‘An omen?’ Cadeo felt a chill. The word omen hadn’t passed his lips or ears in decades, and he hadn’t missed its absence.
‘Yes, out on the sea at dawn,’ Quy continued. ‘The fish were plentiful when we arrived and set the net in the water. But the fish fled from us when the sun fully rose. Every one of them dove into the depths at once and left our nets half empty. There were hundreds on the surface at first, Cadeo. But all of them fled together as though they were of one mind.
‘We waited a while for them to surface again, but they didn’t. We ended up waiting together for the whole morning for even a single one to resurface. But there was no movement in the water at all. When it was close to midday, we saw them all rise to the surface—dead fish. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Just floating beneath our hulls. We first thought it may have been a predator in the water, and so we made back for land. But actually, the fish were left whole and uneaten, so I doubt it. We have no idea how or why they died.’
Cadeo was quiet in thought as he listened, as was his way. ‘They vanished together and died together,’ he reflected. ‘And you saw no other living fish on your way back?’
‘No, not the one. I thought to let you know now because this worries me. At best, we now have fewer fish than usual for the next few days. We didn’t take the fish that were already dead—it may have been some kind of disease that killed them. Maybe the next time we set sail, the fish will be alive and as keen for our bait as usual. But at worst…I’m not sure. A sign that a famine is soon to come, perhaps? Maybe the fish had starved to death themselves. That would bode ill for us too.’
Cadeo smiled despite himself. ‘So extreme an assumption from just one bizarre event, Quy.’
‘Like I said, there were hundreds, Cadeo,’ Quy said. ‘Hundreds of fish just dead on the surface, and those were only the ones we could see. That’s more than just bizarre.’
Cadeo frowned. ‘What did Ashan think?’ he asked while suspecting he already knew the answer.
‘About what you’d expect. He said that Ru must have been bathing in the sea again, and every fish for miles would surely die after that. He said they probably died from the stench alone.’
‘Meaning he does not take this seriously.’
‘Does he ever take anything seriously? I’m going out on the water again this evening. I’ll go when everyone else is settling for dinner. Then we can see if my assumptions are too extreme or not.’
Cadeo suddenly felt dread in his heart. He spoke before he could think. ‘No, do not. You’re not to sail after sundown, and not with the fish…’ Cadeo’s words trailed off as he realised the randomness of his outburst.
Quy looked at him with an eyebrow raised. ‘Well, I wasn’t asking,’ Quy said—firm, but not unkind.
Cadeo nodded. ‘I…I understand,’ he said with the dread still in his heart. ‘But I will stay awake to play music for you on the shore. And for now, it would be best that we keep this to ourselves. No use causing alarm with talks of famines. I’ll only play if you are gone for more than a couple of hours, so as not to wake the others.’
‘Of course. I’ll leave quietly at sunset.’
Quy made the climb with Cadeo up to his hut, which was set in the face of a hill that overlooked the sea. He set the t’rung down and politely bid Gratus a good morning before taking his leave. Cadeo sat on his floor-bed, quite exhausted and quietly anxious. He had forgotten the unease that came with nature’s deviation from routine. This routine had been one which he had enjoyed for decades.
Omen. Famine. These were words that had no place in this land of tranquillity and hard labour anymore, and Cadeo refused to believe that they would ever have a place here again. A mere few decades without either word being uttered was not nearly long enough.

Adorjan wiped sweat from his brow as he stood in the heat of the soon-setting sun. He stood in the main paddy as workers planted the rice that would soon grow tall for harvest. The soil was healthy, and the rice had been planted well. Adorjan was satisfied with the assurance that hard work would soon be rewarded. He blew his horn to mark the day’s end, then walked the rows to thank the weary workers. He started with the eldest of them. He praised her work in his usual way with a warm smile.
‘Your sack is practically empty, Gratus. Thank you for your hard work.’
Adorjan only received a smile in return. Gratus recently looked far older than her years. All the years she had spent toiling in the sun had not been kind to her skin. She bowed and hobbled away from the paddy with the long hair bundled on her back, weighing her down and slowing her steps. Adorjan wished, as he did every day, that she would stop coming to the fields and take the deserved rest that befits a woman of her age. But he knew better than to suggest it out loud, as she would only berate him for it. So, he chose instead to be grateful for the work she stubbornly persisted in. Though he couldn’t help seeing that her sack of rice plants was far fuller than the others. Planting rice in the paddy was gruelling work at any age, and this was the most Adorjan could hope for from Gratus in a day. He set the sack by the cart, out of view of the others. Looks like I have a few more hours of work to do today.
He watched over the fields where the last few workers were leaving with heavy feet. Lihn and Thi walked together as they always did. They were close friends, yet Adorjan very rarely saw them share a word, even while they worked beside each other. They were very different from each other to the eye—Thi had a smile that never left her face, whereas Lihn rarely smiled at all. She seemed like a miserable woman and, as Umbra had once told him, her mouth constantly hung open like a dead fish’s. It was a wonder to him how they ever became so close. Kien had worked alone as usual and walked to the cart alone with a solemn vibe. Her straw hat covered most of her face. Adorjan wasn’t even sure what colour Kien’s eyes were, as she was never seen without that hat on her head.
Umbra’s feet looked particularly heavy, and her head hung the lowest. Adorjan could see even from a distance that she was exhausted. She looked far worse up close—her eyes were dull and barely open.
‘What’s up with you?’ Adorjan asked as he took a heavier-than-expected sack from Umbra’s hands. She was usually the hardest worker with the most vigour in her youth.
‘Not much,’ she replied with a strained voice.
Adorjan pulled her closer and placed his hand on her forehead. She barely reacted and stared blankly at him. Her head didn’t feel any warmer than it ought to after a day in the sun.
‘You’re not sick, are you? Did you see Vada about that cut on your hand?’
‘It was just a scratch,’ was all she said before she left the paddy. Adorjan decided to let her go and imagined her mood as normal for a girl her age who worked as hard as she did. It was a wonder she wasn’t moodier more often.
Adorjan watched the rest of his kin leave until the paddy was empty and he was alone. His thoughts lingered on Umbra and her demeanour as he planted the rest of her and Gratus’ plants. She was often quiet and reserved, but such moodiness was unlike her. She must be hungry, just like everyone else, he concluded. It would be just like her to suffer quietly. How many fish did she get this morning in that rush on the shore? He shook his head and sighed, frustrated at the thought that a little girl’s hunger could have gone ignored.
Adorjan was exhausted after he finished planting the rest of Gratus and Umbra’s rice. He sat on the ground beside the paddies, indulging in his daily solitude. This brief respite was the most calming part of his day. It was easier to find serenity in this place, with nothing to distract him from nature. He owed his understanding of the paddies and his sensitivity to their needs to years of this simple practice. The land, the water, the weeds, the changing weather—he understood their tireless labour for the young rice instinctively when he sat here to simply observe and feel. The soil will be prone to weeds this time, with the soil so healthy, he noted. But this harvest will be a rich one.
Adorjan eventually made his way home when the sun was almost set. The island was empty, as it always was at this time of the evening. He saw only Quy on his way back, who had his harpoon and a basket of bait in hand.
‘You’re going fishing again,’ Adorjan stated more than he asked.
‘Just to test the waters,’ Quy replied. ‘I told Cadeo about the dead fish. I’m gonna spend a few hours out there and see if anything’s changed.’
‘Right. Listen, yesterday morning was a complete mess on the shore. Some may not have gotten any fish, or not as much as others.’
‘Yeah, I saw that too. We can figure that out when I’m back, which should be before sunrise. Any fish I get this time can be shared with whoever didn’t get enough yesterday.’
With that, Adorjan returned to his messy home. His spare garments were in a pile on his floor-bed. The remains of last night’s roasted cockroaches were in his only bowl, and the hut reeked of their stubborn, heavy stench. Bugs made for a more tasteless meal than one would expect for such a potent smell. Adorjan yearned for the taste—and the smell—of fresh fish in his hut again.
He decided not to stay a moment longer than necessary. He would be back soon for another uncomfortable night, as his empty stomach was keen to remind him. He opened a sack hanging beside his still-dirty utensils. Two small fish stared back at him from inside, which were his share from the day before. It was enough for three small meals at most. He took the sack and headed for Umbra’s hut.
It was quiet when he arrived. The sun was fully set, and their hut was lit by a small fire. Adorjan called inside, but there was no answer. He entered to find Varyis lying on his floor-bed, asleep as usual, and Umbra lying on the floor next to him, hugging her stomach. Two empty bowls contained the remains of what looked like mushy, discoloured seaweed. A cup of water was spilt under Varyis’s hand. It was indeed hunger that put her in that mood, Adorjan bitterly reflected. Poor girl.
He gently shook Umbra’s shoulder. ‘Umbra?’
She groaned in response, and her eyes half-opened.
‘I’ve brought some fish for us,’ Adorjan whispered. ‘Come, get up.’
She groaned again. Adorjan’s heart sank at the sight of her. She was frail and utterly helpless. Her shallow breathing and pale skin were stark even in the fire’s warm glow. He let his hand rest on her shoulder for a moment of sympathy, but had to turn away from her to resist shedding tears. Firewood was still burning in the room under a pot of boiling water. He added the small fish and a couple of handfuls of seaweed from their bucket. A pleasant aroma swiftly filled the hut.
‘What’re you doing?’ Varyis asked, still lying down with his back to Adorjan.
‘Oh, you’re awake,’ Adorjan replied. ‘I’m boiling fish.’
‘Whose fish?’
‘Yours now.’
Varyis grunted. ‘That’s your share of fish for a reason. You mustn’t go hungry on our account.’
‘Not to worry, I’ve had my fill already.’
‘No one has their fill here. I doubt you’ve even had a bite.’
Adorjan smiled at Varyis’s back. ‘You shouldn’t live on seaweed and rice alone, not when there’s fish to spare,’ he said.
‘It’s no wonder that we must, when a little girl can’t fight her way through a crowd of hungry adults to earn her share of fish.’
Adorjan’s smile quickly faded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We’ll make sure everyone has their share without having to fight for it, I promise.’
Varyis grunted again. ‘Nothing to apologise to me about.’
Adorjan looked at Umbra, who slept curled up with her face to the floor and her hair tied around her shoulders. It dawned on him that this was the first time he had seen her sleep since she was old enough to walk. She looked restless, even while dormant. He shook her shoulder again with a bowl of fish and seaweed in hand. ‘Umbra?’
‘She’s overworked,’ Varyis said. He looked relatively well tonight. He was not visibly shaking, and he spoke relatively clearly. ‘Maybe let her sleep again tomorrow?’
‘Of course. She need not keep coming every day. You’ll have your share of fish and rice regardless.’
‘She wouldn’t accept a morsel that hasn’t been earned. You know this.’ Varyis managed to sit up on his floor-bed and held out his hand. ‘I’ll make sure she eats this.’
Adorjan handed him the bowl. ‘She’s worked hard enough for a lifetime of fish already, I’d say.’
Varyis said nothing in response. He took hold of his daughter and hauled her up with great effort to lean on him. Umbra’s eyes slowly opened. Varyis began to shake as he took the boiled fish in his hands.
Adorjan took that as his cue to respectfully leave. His heart was still heavy with sympathy as he did. Two fish. That’s all we can do for them after all her labour. Two tiny fish and two more empty stomachs in the morning. He felt sick at the thought.
Adorjan returned home and made a small meal out of rice, roasted cockroaches, and lemongrass. As he anticipated, it was another uncomfortable night spent hungry and exhausted until sleep eventually found him.