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So instead of shouting, Thando ran. Not away — toward. He ran straight at Sipho, faster than the man could react, and threw his arms around the torch. The fire bit into his chest, his arms, his face. The pain was a white-hot river, but Thando did not let go. He held the flame to himself, smothering it against his own body, and fell to the ground.

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Thando lived for three more days. Not in pain — the burn had taken his nerves. But in a kind of strange, floating clarity. The village isangoma , Bheki, sat with him and asked, “What do you see now, child? In your final hours?” So instead of shouting, Thando ran