‘Wake up!’ I say desperately. ‘Please!’

That bird squawks again.

‘Wake up!’ I grab his shoulder and I shake him. Hard. ‘WAKE UP!’ I shout.

The boy’s eyes flicker open and look straight into mine. His eyes are so dark I see myself reflected there.

Then he rolls over and coughs so hard that water comes spurting up. He gasps in air but that only makes him cough even more. He drags himself on to all fours and coughs and retches and spits until it all comes out. His head hangs limply between his arms, his long, dark hair brushes the ground and the blood from the cut on his head drips steadily on to the sand. I hear him breathe, shallow rattling breaths. I see his ribs moving beneath his sandy skin, as if breathing is really hard work.

For the first time I look at the boy properly. He’s wearing animal skins on his bottom half and his top half is bare. He’s thin and wiry, his legs and arms criss-crossed with scratches, but he’s strong-looking too. A few string bracelets are tied around his wrists. Then I see his hands, pressed hard into the sand. They’re big, broad, long-fingered, powerful hands. As if he can feel me staring, the boy whips his head to the side and glares at me through his long wet hair.

‘Who are you?’ I say.

SPEA

‘Are you OK? Where do you live? Are you lost?’

The boy doesn’t answer, he just stares at me hard, angry, almost accusing. His eyes are like black holes.

He takes a big wheezy breath, then he starts to speak, but his voice is rough and rasping. Low like a growl and I don’t understand.

Who you? Who you? You boy? You girl? I not know you! Who you?

I shake my head at him. ‘I have no idea what you’re saying.’ His voice gets louder, faster, like he’s cross.

WHO you? You push me in river? You make me fall? You want kill me dead?

‘Calm down. Please. It’s OK.’

But he doesn’t calm down. He starts really yelling, thumping his chest as he speaks.

You want kill me dead!

I kill you dead! Ha!

I not fraid you! HA!

He awkwardly staggers to his feet, and peers about like he’s searching for something. Then he fixes me with his dark angry glare. I back away.

Where my spea? You TAKE my spea? Where my SPEA?

Spea! I hear, half understanding maybe. ‘Did you just say spear?’

But before I have time to think the boy suddenly leaps forward, springing at me like an attack. I stumble back but not fast enough; he lifts a quick hand and grabs hold of the pocket of my soggy blue T-shirt.

‘Hey!’ I yell, pulling away, trying to tug myself free. ‘Get off me!’

He doesn’t though; he holds on tighter; his nails are filthy black.

You push me in river! You take my spea! I kill you dead!