We drifted along the river at a breakneck pace. The boat was barely held together by strings of dead plant life. Shouting was thrown at us from the shores, and they were hard to ignore. Harder still was avoiding the arrows and spears, and when one finally struck my son’s shoulder the only shout I could hear was my own. I lay beside him as our boat fell apart, and thought his dying eyes would be the last I’d ever see.