Deep within an elder forest, I lay with guerrilla fighters who wander long paths walked by many before them. A reiteration of the same struggle. We've crossed two dozen rivers, two of which were uncrossable, and were no obstacle to our company. In the day, we create distance and converge inwards. At night, one of them (an excellent storyteller) would be wrapped in firelight and sitting upon a huge rucksack filled with ammunition, completely wasted, and insisting on imparting her theories of how causality operates to me. She would claim it was for my own good. In the night, she would speak of liberation and mysterious beasts that roam the great jungle in the darkness. I remember scanning the thick brush every night after that first retelling, freed of any lingering ignorance of my mission and terrified of a creature hidden in the unilluminated parts of the trees, it being conscious of its advantage over me. Don't worry, camarada, she would laugh; your time will come soon enough; you will be given sight, mira, she reassured, looking back at me. While I didn't understand what she meant then, the harbingers' smile was the most beautiful thing I saw during my time with them, that I can say for sure.