Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

The fire had burned down to a low, breathing glow, the kind that makes shadows feel alive. There were four of us—eighteen, loud, invincible in the way only idiots in the woods at midnight can be. The Appalachian dark pressed in close, thick as a wall. Beyond the reach of the firelight, the forest wasn’t just unseen—it felt like it was watching back. We were laughing. I remember that clearly. Someone was halfway through a story, something dumb and exaggerated, when the friend sitting next to me