Rain drenched the slums that surrounded Nacei, turning the higher banks into a basin of mud that threatened to carry them to the sea. Water dripped through the tattered tent and onto Bronwin’s matted black hair. His father, Admir, promised to patch it before the winds turned cold, but it would never be the priority while their bellies rumbled from days without food. Young Bronwin, a boy of eight, laid huddled in the corner shivering. The thin blanket wrapped around him wasn’t good for much, yet he remembered the miserable winter without it. He stuck the corner into his mouth. The bitter and dirty flavor made Bronwin’s face scrunch, but he imagined it a delicacy, one that would make the others envious.

        The dream accompanied the boy frequently, a delusion born from desperation as he tried to tune out his parents. They never screamed, but their whispers were sharp and full of frustration.

        “What do you expect? The Hui knew exactly what they were doing. Townsfolk won’t even look our way anymore, let alone hire us. Every day I leave here and do what I can to help us survive.” The family’s struggles were far from unique in the small coastal town. Tents popped up like moles along the outskirts, infecting the ground the rich townsfolk claim as their own.

        Bronwin’s mother sighed. “I understand that you’re trying Admir, but it’s not enough. We can’t survive like this. Try fishing again.“

        “We’ve been over this, Pia. People like us can’t compete on the waters. They have poles, spears, nets, and bait. I am lucky to whittle a stick sharp enough to pierce a leaf.” Fish were plentiful enough in their town, but not for the likes of them. Fishermen caught fish by the dozens every day and didn’t take kindly to peasants disrupting their spots.

        “Then we’ll leave.” Pia’s voice waned and Admir sighed. Bronwin didn’t need to look up to know their expression. They all knew the truth.

        Most people were born poor and died poor, while the rich just got richer. Bronwin was used to this and knew nothing else. With withered muscles and skin clung to his ribs, he looked half his true age. Yet his clothes still did not fit. His one hole-riddled shirt barely covered his belly button, and his stained trousers rode up his calves. They made Bronwin’s skin itchy and red, but the young boy never complained.

        Howling winds and chattering teeth made it impossible for him to sleep as the night carried on. When the sun rose, Admir left for somewhere unknown. Bronwin rarely saw him sleep and knew naught of how he spent his days. The father and son were not close, and Admir seemed to project his frustrations onto Bronwin. But truth be told, the boy did not care. With Admir gone, he cuddled up beside his mother, and she held him in her arms. He felt safe and warm when they were together. Soon the boy drifted to sleep.

        It was midday before he awoke. Bronwin found his mother outside tending to the earth. Every year she tried to garden, but the seeds never took to the clay-filled soil. He sighed and returned inside. Days were often boring. At times he longed to join the children who laughed and played by the banks, but he couldn’t muster the energy. If given the choice, he’d join the rich children who learned about stories of the past, the Creators’ words, and mysteries of how the world worked. 

        “Bronwin!” his mother shouted. He sat on the dirt floor, drawing animals into the ground with his finger but shot up at the sound of her voice. “Come here next to me, and help dig.” He crouched beside her and scraped away at the soil. It hurt his hand, but he loved to help. “Good Bronwin, just like that. A few more please. Make a hole for each one of your fingers. Make a straight row and spread out to let the roots grow.”

        Bronwin nodded but didn’t speak as usual, despite his mother’s encouragement. With each hole, his hands got more sore and blisters formed, but he refused to rest. He hated to see her disappointed. But when the boy flexed and stretched his hands, Pia noticed the dried blood on his fingertips. “That’s good enough for now. Let’s rest.”

        “I didn’t finish.” Bronwin held up six fingers. He wanted to continue but didn’t argue as she led him inside. His face reddened. No matter how hard he tried, Bronwin always seemed to come up short. Six fingers, barely half. With a hung head, he sat in the corner with the blanket draped around his shoulders.

        Not long after, Admir arrived home. A moment of hope overcame Bronwin as his stomach growled and begged to be fed, but once again, his father’s hands were empty. He kissed Pia on the head. Her eyes belied the cheerful expression on her face, suggesting the dismay she tried to hide.

        Quiet tension filled the home until bedtime, when Bronwin’s parents finally argued after assuming him to be asleep. The boy laid still, eyes closed, and listened to every word. They had the same desperate conversation every time they went without food, which was more often than any of them liked. Bronwin couldn’t stand it anymore. He woke up the next day determined to help his family.

        “Mother,” said Bronwin as she knelt down in the garden. “Can I go play? I want to play with the other kids.”

        Pia nodded. “Get a drink from the stream first. And be careful my love.”

        Bronwin smiled and took off. Not willing to go against his mother’s request, he stopped for a long drink but had no interest or intention of playing. Lying was wrong, but he told himself that she wouldn’t be mad if he returned with food. His stomach hurt, but he could not tell if it was from hunger or guilt.

        A plan would have been helpful, but Bronwin hadn’t thought ahead. All he knew was that they needed food, and the wealthy townspeople had an abundance of it. He ventured into Nacei’s market and stood to the side, watching others pick the freshest of fruits and tender meat while his stomach rumbled in envy.

        Every once in a while, a stranger would stare with disgust and disdain. Bronwin didn’t care. He often thought of them as a different species, and it seemed natural that the intelligent chimps would look down on the oafish gibbons. He didn’t blame them or hate them, and he tried to stay out of the way. All Bronwin wanted was for his gibbon family to not go to bed hungry.

        Time eluded him as he stood in place for far too long. His hunger grew as he caught whiffs of simmering stew and saw people snack on llama jerky as they strolled the street. Everything he needed was within reach, yet he had no idea how to capture it.

        “You deaf? Get out of here!” the man yelled. Bronwin jumped as he came back to reality. He fumbled over his words. “Have the poor somehow gotten dumber? Go. Get going!” The man shooed the boy with operatic gestures, as if bothered by a mosquito. Bronwin backed up, bumping into a passerby who cursed him for his recklessness.

        When the spit landed on Bronwin’s cheek, he ran and didn’t stop until the edge of town when his weak legs collapsed. He leaned against a tree and sank to the ground, holding his knees to his chest. For a moment, he considered going home and pretending as if it had never happened. Then Bronwin held out six fingers and stared down. Feeling worthless hurt more than the hunger pangs, and hearing his parents’ desperate bickering hurt the most. Bronwin thought he could change all of it.

        Another place had just as much food, and he didn’t have to walk far before the smell of salt and fish tickled his nose. No one would help out of the kindness of their heart. Bronwin needed to be brave and smart if he wanted the night to end with supper on the table.

        The dock was bustling with burly men shouting, carrying crates, and pulling nets full of fish from the water. No one paid mind to the scrawny, out-of-place boy. He tip-toed around searching for anything to eat, a stray fish or even scraps would do. Frustration mounted after coming up empty-handed. Bronwin realized how difficult it must be for his father every day.

        Near the shore, a man piled crates full of fish onto a cart, ready to be taken away to the city. Bronwin looked on in envy. It’s not fair! There’s enough food to feed every family on the outskirts!

        Bronwin’s mother taught him not to steal, but she said the same about lying and that rule had already been broken. He could think of no other way. Besides, the man with a full cart wouldn’t notice a couple missing fish.

        He snuck around to the back of the wagon where it shielded him from view as the fisherman set another crate on the pile. Once the man turned his back, Bronwin climbed up onto the cart’s wooden wheel and tugged at the lid of a crate to no avail. The grunting noises coming from the scrawny boy were as if an ox tried moving a mountain. He knew he needed to work quicker and quieter before someone noticed, but it wouldn’t budge. Most men would struggle less lifting the whole cart. Anger burst out, and he hit the crate repeatedly until a splinter pierced his hand and he fell back. 

        Forgetting his situation, Bronwin yelped and kicked the wagon’s wheel. He heard the crack, then a snap as the wheel broke under the cart’s heavy weight. It tipped to the side, and Bronwin rolled away just in time for the crate he struggled with to finally open as it smashed on the ground. With wide eyes and mouth agape, he stared at the disaster before him.

        “What in Kamorah’s name is going on?” The fisherman sprinted towards his cart. Bronwin jumped to his feet and scooped up an armful of fish before darting away. The fisherman chased and yelled after him. “Don’t make this worse, twat, or I’ll have your head!”

        The young boy’s short legs were no match for the man’s. The fisherman snatched Bronwin’s arm and yanked the boy back. “Those aren’t yours, you pauper.”

        Bronwin turned and swung, slapping the man with a slimy fish, leaving his cheek red with mucus glimmering in the sunlight. Still, the fisherman did not release his grasp. Instead, he struck Bronwin with the back of his hand.

        Tears poured from Bronwin’s eyes, and he received another smack. “Why are you crying? You’re the thief trying to steal my fish! That one crate is worth more coin than your scrawny hide. How are you going to make up for this, huh? How? Where’s your parents? You live in one of them tents?”

        The screaming made it harder to stop crying. Snot dripped from his nose, and breathing became difficult. Though he kept trying to squirm free.

        “Stop struggling.” The man smacked him again. Bronwin looked around, hoping someone would help, but nobody seemed to care. Everyone continued about their business without concern. “You got a home? A papa to make this right? Where do you live?”

        Bronwin’s fight left him. “I’ll show you,” he said through his sobs. The walk was shameful, and Bronwin trembled by the time they reached home. Father would be livid, but he was more concerned with his mother’s disappointment.. All he wanted was to make her smile, but instead he made everything worse. Pia was waiting outside and ran up in relief as she saw her boy.

        “Bronwin! Where have you been?” Pia glared at the man clutching her son. “Who are you? Get your hands off him.”

        The fisherman grunted and let him go. “Your son is a thief. Where’s his father? Someone owes me.”

        Admir emerged from the tent. “Did you say he robbed you? Is this true?” He looked at Bronwin. The boy nodded as he stared at the ground.

        “Tried to steal my fish. Ruined a whole crate AND broke my cart. Worth more silvers than all your pathetic lives put together. You people are scum, a wart on our town. If someone doesn’t pay me, then the Hui will hear about this. They’ll take your hand and the boy’s too.”

        Bronwin’s eyes widened. Pia led him inside while the men talked. A hug was the last thing he expected, and he sobbed again as she held him. Pia sang a soft lullaby and rocked him gently. A long time passed before Admir returned.

        In his mind, Bronwin imagined the worst, that his father would scream and disown him. Instead, he didn’t utter a word, nor glance their way. Admir sat at the table and remained there, rubbing his forehead with the occasional sigh, until nightfall. Bronwin held his mother tight until bedtime, and once again they waited to speak until they believed him to be asleep.

        “Three days.” Admir’s voice was low, defeated. “We’re ruined. Completely ruined. He did that Pia, our own son.”

        “Bronwin’s a child. He’s starving—we all are. I’m sure he just wanted to help.”

        Bronwin was glad to have his mother on his side, though he didn’t feel he deserved it.

        “That’s no excuse. There is no way out of this.”

        Bronwin’s heart sank when his mother sighed. “I know it’s no excuse. But we’ll figure this out. We have to. Everyone makes mistakes growing up and he’ll learn.”

        Admir stood. “This was more than just a mistake. It was theft. Now all of us have to face the consequences.”

        When the sun rose the next morning, his father left and Bronwin barely saw him over the next two days. Once, he brought home a few bites of bread and some berries. It was more food than Bronwin had eaten over the last week, but his stomach still ached.

        Bronwin kept staring at his hand. What would life be like without it? He held one hand behind his back as he helped tend the garden, until his mother noticed. He stopped as her green eyes glazed, on the verge of tears. She tried to act normal, but Bronwin knew better. Not once did she encourage him to speak, nor lift his chin as he hung his head.

        At night, he tossed and turned as dreams haunted him. In his mind, he saw an old friend and pictured them swimming. The cries echoed as the rock sliced his friend’s foot. Bronwin could smell the pus oozing from the wound, the foot black the last time he saw him. They had a funeral, but instead of his friend, Bronwin found his father in the hole; hand missing and arm rotting like an old log. Pia cried over him and held the severed hand. Bronwin shook her, but she acted as if he wasn’t there. Had he died too? Or was he just dead to her?

        So instead of sleeping, he listened. Father arrived home late, surely to avoid his son. His mother begged again for them to leave Nacei, but his father wouldn’t have it, insisting they wouldn’t survive a single night in the wilderness. They talked in circles, with Admir slandering his own son. The worst was when his mother stopped defending him.

        The third night arrived, colder than most. Pia tended to a small flame she hoped would grow into a true fire. Bronwin huddled next to her in his blanket, damp from dew. “Bronwin?” The boy looked over at her. “I know you feel bad and that you’re sorry. Just know I’m not mad and I’ll always love you.”

        “Father doesn’t love me anymore.”

        Pia abandoned the fire and knelt by her son. “Have I ever told you the hatchling’s story?” Bronwin shook his head.

        “Once a mother condor built her nest in the tallest tree atop the highest mountain peak. There she laid three eggs. One hatched early and out popped a baby bird, healthy and strong. However, he was lonely waiting for his siblings. He nudged an egg, hoping to help it hatch, but he pushed it too far. The egg toppled over the edge and rolled down the mountainside. In a panic, the mother chased after it. For days she searched, and the baby bird wondered if his mother would ever return. But one night she did, and in her beak was another baby bird. The egg had cracked, but the baby lived. Now, while she was gone, do you think the mother condor stopped loving her first hatchling?”

        Bronwin shook his head.

        Pia smiled. “And your father hasn’t stopped loving you. He’s focusing on other things to keep the whole family healthy and safe. Just like the mother condor.”

        Admir poked his head inside. His eyes drooped with dark bags, but he gave a slight smile. “Pia, come outside with me.”

        Bronwin knew not to follow, but he couldn’t help succumbing to curiosity. No one ever told him the truth, and he needed to know. He crawled next to the flap of the tent and heard a strange voice. “I’ll pay you well,” the man said.

        Then their tones hushed and Bronwin couldn’t make out their words until the man bid them farewell.

        “This is our way out,” said Admir. “It’ll be hard, but it’s the only way. We can pay off our debt, none of us will ever starve again, and we’ll have enough coin to move. This is our chance to start over.”  

        Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, Bronwin scrambled back to his cot. Besides, he had heard enough. He smiled and flailed his arms before hugging the hand he almost lost.

        As his parents walked inside, Bronwin turned to sleep. At first he pretended but then quickly drifted away. For the first time in days, no dreams bothered him.

        When he woke, he wondered if it was all true. We won’t have to starve anymore? Or cut off our hands? Excitement overtook the boy as he leaped from bed and ran to hug his father. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for saving us. I love you.”

        Admir hugged him back, then pushed him off and held the boy by the shoulders. “What do you mean, you’re glad this is over? What did you hear?”

        “That we won’t starve anymore, and we can start over.” Bronwin looked up at his dad with hope in his eyes. “Is it true?”

        Admir brushed back his hair. “Yes Bronwin, it’s true. In fact, take this.” He handed him a piece of jerky. The boy’s eyes lit up as he snatched it from his father’s hand.

        The tough stick of meat tired his jaw, but nothing had ever tasted quite so delicous. He stepped outside, expecting his mother to be tending the garden. Instead, she sat on an old stump, her eyes red and nose sniffly. “Mother, why are you crying? It’s all okay now.”

        Usually, the boy had no words. But now it was Pia who stayed silent. His father joined them outside and put a hand on Bronwin’s shoulder as a man with a long gray beard approached their tent. When he greeted them, Bronwin recognized the voice as the one from last night. He shook the man’s hand. “Are you the one who’s going to help us?”

        “Yes Bronwin. This is Vino. First, he needs to make sure you’re healthy.” Admir nodded to the man.

        Bronwin froze as Vino knelt beside him. He stretched out his arms and squeezed his tiny muscles. Pia’s cries turned to sobs, and tears welled in Bronwin’s eyes too. Vino examined his entire body. Feeling his protruded ribs, scrawny legs, and even pulling down his pants to glance at his scrotum.

        When Vino finished, he pulled a pouch out of his pocket and spun around, facing his back to them. “What’s happening?” Bronwin’s voice cracked.

        Bronwin’s father knelt down and hugged his son. “I need you to trust me. You’ll be okay. You’ll never starve again, and they’ll be fair to you if you behave.”

        Vino turned towards his father and held out a handful of silvers. “This isn’t what you promised,” said Admir.

        “And neither is the boy. You said I’d be getting a toad when he is nothing more than a tadpole. Take it or leave it, it’s no matter to me.” The man’s sharp tone left no room for negotiation. Admir scoffed and snatched the coins. Vino grabbed Bronwin by the arm.

        “Don’t do this, Admir. You can’t sell our son! We’ll figure it out, we always do. Please!”

        “We talked about this, Pia. We’ve been suffering a long time, way longer than just this past week. That will be over now. It’s a sacrifice, but it’s what’s best. You know it’s true.”

        Bronwin stomped on Vino’s foot, causing the man to howl and release his hold on the boy. He sprinted into his mother’s embrace. “I’m sorry Bronwin, I’m so sorry,” she wept. “Everything will be okay. Never forget that I love you.”

        “No, Mother. I don’t want to go. I’ll never steal again. Mother, please, I’m sorry.” His tears soaked his mother’s blouse.

        Vino yanked him to his feet. “Better not do that again. You said your goodbyes. We’re leaving.”

        Pia cried out and reached towards them, only for Admir to pull her back. Bronwin looked back at his parents, flailing as Vino dragged him away. “Please, Father. I’ll be good! I’m sorry. Please. Don’t let him take me. I’m so sorry. I love you.” Neither of his parents replied before they disappeared from sight.

        When they reached the docks, the man chained a collar around Bronwin’s neck. For a moment he fought, but then Vino’s fist slammed into his stomach. “I warned you,” he said. Bronwin fell limp, and Vino lifted the boy onto his shoulder before tossing him into the boat. He landed with a thud and did not move as he felt them leaving the shore. Bronwin didn’t understand, but he knew it was his fault and he’d never get the chance to make it right.