Shruti’s wail woke the entire camp. The women rushed to her side, and moments later the men, including Rami, followed. Khouri was the only one who turned to look at Rastaban.
“What happened?” one of the men asked, kneeling beside the body. “There’s no blood, no wound. He’s just -”
Shruti wailed again.
Rami’s expression was unreadable, but then he cast a glance at Rastaban as well, who stood with the other boys.
“He must have been ill,” a shaman said finally. “He was always a frail boy.”
Shruti lifted her tear-stained face and glared at Rastaban. “You did this!”
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