‘Winter will start soon, a time of new beginnings for you. You should be happy you recovered. Even with my skills it was nothing short of miraculous.’ Raising her head, he brought the water pouch close to her mouth. ‘Just palm candy water for you now.’

She took a sip. The sweet liquid scratched down her throat like claws.

The Namin threw her a glance. ‘Do you want to talk about why you were pretending to be a boy?’

‘No.’

‘That’s that then.’ He turned away.

III

She had been trying to walk with the Namin’s help, with limited success, falling backwards like a felled tree more times than she could count. Taking a deep breath, she rose again with a groan. Turning, she tried to put pressure on her left foot. The grinding ache brought nightmarish memories.

‘I have seen ducklings recover faster. I had seen Kirtavirya continue to fight without both hands, and you have all your limbs. Surely you understand I have other things to do apart from fussing over you? Stretch it!’

She wanted to throttle him, shriek curses at him. But she knew she needed him, so she held her tongue. ‘It won’t budge!’ she hissed, her knee joints making ominous sounds. ‘They won’t budge!’ she cried, defeated.

‘You’ve just been lying around for weeks. I did not stitch you up for you to become furniture. Try fucking harder! Here…’ The Namin’s palm closed mercilessly around her leg and forced the bent leg into a straight line. Nala’s neck split in five distinct muscle threads as a loud breath hissed through her, too fast for even a scream. Bile rose to her throat. She turned her head and vomited.

‘Pain is the great forger, Nala. ‘It drives us to our true potential.’ The Namin patted her back.

Nala struggled to push him away but she might as well have nudged a wall. ‘You sound like Sister Mercy,’ she sobbed.

‘You know her? She’s a friend. Now turn the ankle.’

‘I cannot. Please…stop!’

‘Use that hate to beat the bone into shape, Nala. Think of your mother, think of your brothers, burned alive. Hate will give you strength.’

‘Fuck!’ She turned her ankle in a half circle. ‘FUCK! FUCKING-MOTHER-ARGH!’

‘Excellent. See?’

She screamed and stumbled in a bid to claw at the Namin, and would have fallen if he had not caught her. Nala sagged back onto the bed, clutching her purple leg, whimpering like a kitten in a storm. Hate. Why not use Hate to her benefit? She had heard of Shraps. She tried to use every bit of pain to summon a Shrap on Bheem, but could not. She did not know how. She fell back, defeated. One needed ton of eyons to summon one, and she had done nothing in her life to earn even one.

‘Good try. Still hurts, eh? Where precisely?’

‘EVERYWHERE!’

‘That attitude will not help you recover your humour. Another round now. Push yourself. Pain is…’