Bone wanted to sleep. He had lost too much blood, but the thought of his daughter being deflowered by some greasy turco slapped his brain with the deafening resolve of a fish out of the water. He hated himself for thinking that at least they would have a good meal that night, even the dogs would. Maybe she could delay the thing, scheherazade the guy out of it. And with that thought, the piercing pain of his swollen leg and hand sucked him down his mattress to the thermal waters of his hometown river. He could feel the warm gray mud being applied on his face, arms, and legs; the sulfuric smell contrasting with the transparent steaming stream forming pools at every meandering.

He could see the little fish gathering around his toes, nibbling the whitened and wrinkling skin. One of them, resembling a red-bulging-eyed piraña, swam up his leg, opening an ever-wider horrific mouth revealing needle-sharp teeth. The pain was excruciating and his wife’s voice pulled him out of the reddened water.