At the stream, Mum and her men caught fish and stripped them, cooking the meat with pocket blowtorches. We all ate – and even the aswangs had some fish. Right, I figured; no way would they let the monsters die, not with all that money to be had. We had bottles of water, but we still had to be careful. Mum told us to take little sips now and then. They nodded.
These tough guys were all afraid of her. No one argued. Her demands (that's what they sounded like, demands) were always met with nods. A nod here, a nod there, a nod everywhere. People moved fast, moved like people that really believed they were going to be rich. I got another strange feeling, that these same people would have no problem killing her, and maybe everyone else, to go home with more mullah. For sure, I had to get away from those people. I was not (NOT) in the same field of vibration. I was repelled by them. I could smell the greed everywhere. These people wanted big houses and even bigger cars. I saw one of Mum's men sitting by the stream, on a big ol' rock, his eyes closed with a big smile on his face, hands up, moving them around like he was driving a car. Awkward. All very awkward.
The whole time, Mum didn't look at me, not even once. When she handed me food, it was with her eyes down at her feet. But I kept looking right at her face, winning in my own way. Winning what? I'm not sure; but it felt good.