I took the first step, but just as I was about to make my way to the last man in the group, the fifth, who seemed to be hanging back, stepped between us, closing the gap. I paused. He paused. I tilted my head in an attempt to make out the delicate white skull paint on the edges of his face. With every stroke, as if to emanate the sharp-featured bone on his face. His eyes were white like a wolf’s, and his hoodie closed around his neck. None of the other men had the same face paint on their face, but they watched the exchange, nonetheless.
