Dhartha intoned in a voice that sounded like a bass howl of storm-winds, Selim, who has no father or mother -- Selim, who was welcomed as a member of our tribe -- you have been found guilty of stealing tribal water. Therefore, you must walk across the sands. Dhartha raised his voice, shouting before the condemned man could pass out of earshot. May Shaitan choke on your bones.
 
All his life, Selim had done more work than most others. Because he was of unknown parentage, the tribe demanded it of him. No one helped him when he was sick, except maybe old Glyffa; no one carried an extra load for him. He had watched some of his companions gorge themselves on inflated family shares of water, even Ebrahim. And still, the other boy, seeing half a literjon of brackish water untended, had drunk it, foolishly hoping no one would notice. How easy it had been for Ebrahim to blame it on his supposed friend when the theft was discovered? Strive to take them from infancy to great age at will, back and forth, back and forth.”
“They don't change!” he protested?