I was 16, he repeated. Kesra, your father, was 15, and my sister Pooli – your mother – was 13. You were just a couple of months old. We were all with the same wagon. There were 3 of us pulling it – me, Kesra, and a cousin of his called Rahmat – and Pooli was in the back with you and another baby, a little girl called Jele. Jeles mother had died during childbirth and Pooli had taken her on. Wede been having some problems with the front axle of our wagon, and wede had to stop a few times to fix it, so when we reached the point where the ambush happened, we were some way behind the rest of the wagons. It was the narrowest part of the canyon wede come across so far, only just wide enough for a single wagon to squeeze through. At first I was pleased to see it. With all the wagons having to queue up to get through, the delay would allow us to catch up with everyone else, and once wede reached the back of the queue it would give us the chance to rest up for a while. But the closer we got to the pass, the more uneasy I became. I didnt know why, but something didnt feel right. There was something out of place. I couldnt work it out, and I kept looking all around – behind us, above us, in front of us, everywhere – trying to see what was wrong, but everything appeared perfectly normal. Kesra could see I was worried about something, and he started to ask me what it was, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, the wagon in front of us moved off, heading through the pass, and we hitched up our harnesses and began pulling the wagon forward to take its place. I was still looking around as the wagon in front of us edged slowly through the narrow gap, but I was beginning to tell myself not to worry anymore. Even if there was something wrong that I wasnt seeing, wede soon be passing through the gap ourselves, and once we reached the other side and joined up with everyone else, wede be safe.

Starry stopped again, letting out a sigh, then went on.