that was stuck in my hand. It was very painful. I didn't say anything, I barely groaned. Father Indian put what he had pulled out right beside me. It looked like a big thorn. He then made another cut, closer to my wrist, and pulled out another thorn. He repeated this about six times. He then put the wet leaves over the wounds. I began to feel slightly relieved. Mother Indian came back. This time she was carrying a clay jar with no handle that had the same red spots they had painted on their bodies. She gave me the jar. I just held it. I couldn't get it close to my mouth. The boy helped me drink it. It was a very strong tea with no sugar at all. That's when I saw he had my hat on again and didn't look scared. I smiled at him. He smiled back. He put his hat on straight. Right before falling asleep, I felt Father
