It was carried on the night wind to the circle of mud houses that formed the village not a thousand yards distant, but no one came to help them.

AKIL KNOCKED SOFTLY. THE DOOR CRACKED. AN EYE PEERED OUT. "GO away," a gruff voice said.

"Uncle," Akil said. "Please."

"Go away!" the voice said, more loudly this time. The door slammed in Akil's face.

Akil staggered back to Adara, clad now in his shirt and sitting on a rock by the side of the lane staring vacantly into space. At least she had stopped weeping. "I'm sorry, Adara," he said-how many times now? "He won't let us in."

Her breast rose and fell in a soundless sigh. "None of them will," she said, her voice the merest thread of sound. "AMI, you must end this."

"No!" he shouted. She flinched. "No," he said, more temperately. "No, Adara. We will find someone who will help us, give us food and shelter for a night, and then we will leave this place."

"And go where?" she said. "Our parents turned us away. Three of our uncles, two of our cousins. There is nowhere left for us to go, AMI."

"I'll find a place," he said. "Trust me, Adara. I will find us a place to go, where you can be safe."

And he would have, he knew he would have, but when the third cousin refused to let him into her house and he returned to Adara, he found her hanging from the branch of a neem tree, strangled on a knot made from the sleeve of his own shirt.