Not hurt. It is not a statement of R's well being, but a promise for his, a guarantee that R means him no harm.

Aunamee answers this promise by removing his pocket knife and flicking open the blade.

"Old friend," he says with his usual patience, although his eyes are hard and he looms over the hole like a wild dog. His clothing is stained with dirt. Specks of blood. He brushes his foot against R's hand as the boy struggles. "Has it really been so long?"