My gaze was keen—well trained—and in just a mere moment, I saw danger three feet from Moira’s stride as she stumbled along. A bushmaster snake was slithering its way onto the path from her right and, in two more steps, she would be right on it.

My hands shot out, grabbing Moira by the shoulders and pulling her backward into me. She screamed in fright as the bushmaster lifted its head toward us. I forcefully shoved her behind me, and she went crashing to the path on her butt. Father Gaul and Ramon looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, but they didn’t see what I did.

Certain death.

The bushmaster was defensively poised, its head hovering several inches off the ground. Without a word to any of them, I swung my machete through the air and alleviated the viper of its head, where it thudded softly onto the rotting leaves.

Reaching out to a large, wet palm leaf, I wiped the serpent’s blood from my blade and turned to Moira with a glare. “You need to keep your eyes on the path, foolish chama de cabelos. Next time, I let the serpent strike.”

She looked up at me with those mossy, green eyes filled with fear and contrition. Our gazes locked for a moment, but then I turned away and started walking down the path. Ramon rushed past me to help Moira from the ground, and our little expedition continued.

I reacted on instinct, saving her miserable life, and in turn, trapped myself at her side. In hindsight, I should have let the snake strike, then I could have hauled her lifeless body back to the village and been done with this foolishness.

We parted ways with Father Gaul and Ramon when we reached the Jutai. Moira and I continued north via dugout canoe, while Father Gaul went west to visit the Matica tribe, who was a sworn enemy of the Caraicans. There had been much bloodshed between our two clans.

On the second night after we had ported off the Jutai, I almost left Moira… so great was my longing to return home, back to the Caraican village where my friends and family revered me and I was happy. I went off into the jungle and contemplated what I would say to Paraila when I returned. I could tell him some lie, like Moira had changed her mind. Or that she had been eaten by a jaguar or caiman. With that story, I’d have to kill her and dispose of her body to get away with that, because knowing what little I did about her, she would have just tracked me back to the village.

Nothing I could come up with seemed to be feasible, but ultimately, I knew I would never be able to look Paraila… my father and teacher… in the eye and tell him I wouldn’t respect his wishes.

Paraila begged me to go, to give this opportunity a chance, and I ultimately couldn’t say no to the old man.

But I didn’t go down without a fight.

For two days after Moira’s arrival, we fought.

He threw everything at me, and when I still denied him, he threw more. I pointed out that he was an old man, and that if I left, no one would take care of him. I promised that I would go… as soon as he died, but he was proving to be just as stubborn as I was.

He even became cruel with me, showing me a new side to the man I’d called my father for so many years. Paraila told me that I truly wasn’t welcome within the tribe. That he had insisted I stay only when he knew I had no other options, but now that he knew I had a family member back in the States that was eager to reconnect, he told me that he didn’t want me around anymore.

That hurt so badly that I lurched out of his longhouse, kicking over a basket of cassava flour in my sorrowful haste. I looked everywhere for Tukaba, feeling the need to pound away inside of her body to ease my frustration and anger, but she was nowhere to be found. I thought briefly about dragging the goddess-like woman named Moira into the jungle and forcing her to submit to me, but I was smart enough to know that would not be acceptable by her standards. So with no means for release, I grabbed my bow and quiver, heading deep into the jungle to find something to kill.

Paraila later apologized to me for his harsh words and, over a quiet dinner, made a last plea that finally caused me to surrender.

“Cor’dairo,” he had said, calling me “my son” in the old and almost extinct Caraican language. “Why do you fight me on this? This is not the life I would wish upon you.”

“But I’m happy here,” I told him while holding his hand.

“Maybe, but you may be happier elsewhere,” he said with a much stronger voice than I had heard from him in a while. “What kind of life is this… struggling day in and day out for survival? Father Gaul says that where you are going, you will have food overflowing and many opportunities laid before you. What do you have here? An old man and his shrew of a wife.”

“I have Tukaba,” I said with a wink. “She makes me plenty happy.”

“Yes, you have Tukaba, but she has many friends,” he said with a sly smirk.

I grinned back at him because Paraila and I always shared the same type of humor. Tukaba was, indeed, a woman that shared the pleasures of all the single men in the tribe.

“You deserve more than this meager life you lead, and I want to see you have a chance at real happiness before I die.”

“But Paraila—” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“No, Zacharias… son not of my loins but of my heart. I am begging you to go. For me… I am begging you. Give it a year and, if you wish, you may return. But for me… give it a chance and go with this new fortune.”

I stared at him, noting the sheen of tears in his eyes and the surety of his voice. It crashed all around me that I could not deny this man anything… not the man who had raised, protected, and even given me love when my parents died. I owed him my life. I would do anything he asked.