Hennie didn't stand. He just pointed to the dirt at the boy's feet. "You’ve forgotten how to walk on this earth, Pieter. You’re stepping too light. The wind will blow you away."
On the final night, sitting around a small fire of thornwood, the silence became a character. It sat between them, heavy and demanding.
Hennie looked at the fire. "Because here, I am not a 'case file' or a 'demographic.' Here, I am the man who planted that lemon tree when it was a twig. If I leave, the tree forgets who gave it water. And a tree that is forgotten dies of thirst, even in the rain."