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eyes widened as Annah hurled the stone toward him. Alarmed, he swiftly lunged aside, almost toppling over before recovering his balance. They both watched the stone fall into the water, raising a froth of sparkling droplets. Yes , Annah decided, it was within his reach.
    In obvious agreement, he nodded, lifting his hands meaningfully: Throw it .
    Slowly, she picked up the amulet again and clutched it, working up her courage. Please , she thought—closing her eyes, the thought was so intense— let this reach him . Aiming as best she could, she threw the leather-padded amulet across the water. She threw it too far to his right.He surged through the water for it, and fell. Annah sucked in her breath, horrified. He was gone. The amulet was gone. She had lost them both to the current. She sank to her knees on the riverbank and waited, trembling with apprehension. It seemed an eternity until she saw him again.
    His left hand emerged from the water first, clutching the leather pouch. It was empty. As she watched in despair, he reappeared, gasping for breath. Wiping his eyes, he smiled at her mischievously, lifting his right hand. The leather-corded amulet dangled from his fingertips.
    Melting with relief, Annah lowered her face into her hands. She felt as if she had been saved from some unknown danger. When she recovered, she looked over at him again. He was studying the amulet carefully, obviously fascinated by its leaf-patterned surface. Sensing her scrutiny, he gestured to the amulet, questioning: Yours?
    Annah nodded and put a hand to her face, stroking downward on an imaginary beard: From my father .
    The young man repeated her gesture, asking: Your father’s?
    She nodded again, then slowly drew her hand along a dry patch of the riverbank, gathering the tawny sand in her fist. Raising her arm so he could see, she let the sand drift down from her fingers to rejoin the sand on the bank—the customary gesture indicating death: My father is dead .
    It was the first time that she had ever communicated the news of her father’s death to anyone. In twenty-five years, no one in her family or in the settlement had ever spoken to Annah of her father. Not a breath of condolence, regret, or even a vague interest in justice. Nothing. Their lack of emotion had formed the most agonizingportion of her grief.
    Now, the simple act of releasing the sand back to the earth was more than she could bear. The pain caught hard in her throat, and she tried to choke it down. Stinging, blurring tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Gathering another handful of sand, she flung it away. Dead! she thought, anguished. And I’ll go mad if I don’t calm myself. He’s watching .
    He had retreated to the opposite bank and crouched down, dripping wet, watching her, waiting. She could feel his gaze upon her. His mood was heavy now; she could sense that too. He must think I’m mad . Mournfully, she scooped some water from the river and dashed it over her face. As she dried her eyes, she heard the quiet plop of a stone in the water before her. He was beckoning her. Annah looked over at him reluctantly.
    His eyes expressed no ridicule, only gentle sympathy and compassion. He repeated her gestures, imitating the beard of her father, and scattering the dust of death, but then he added his own thoughts. Pointing to her, he traced the path of a tear from his right eye down his cheek: You mourn the death of your father . Then, he tapped his chest, indicating himself, then drew the path of another tear down his cheek, and lowered his head: I’m sorry .
    He did not lift his head immediately, and Annah realized he felt defeated by his inability to help her. Quickly, she snatched a small stone and threw it into the water before him. As he looked up, she managed a half smile and a shrug, then clasped both of her hands to herself briefly and extended them toward him: Thank you , she thought. You are the first person to express any sympathy for my father’s