I've always liked games where much is left to the player's imagination.

She'd heard precious little from her brother since he'd sent her the letter detailing the expedition he and his mentor Herbert were taking part in. Of course she'd written him back, telling him he was a fool and that he'd either find nothing there or get himself eaten by cannibals. Not because she had so little faith him, though he'd never been the sharpest tack and rather unlucky to boot, but because she'd always worried for her youngest brother and she wasn't going to let his adulthood stop her. So when he showed up on her doorstep, disheveled and bloodstained, she had only the tiniest feeling of victory. She'd been right after all.

The children would have to be kept away from him, as curious as they were about their thus-far estranged uncle. The dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of weeks of exhaustion, and something deeper. Not the kind of exhaustion that came from sleeping on an uncomfortable bed, but the kind that came from nights lying awake in anxiety. Of what, she did not know. What she did know was that he would need to rest, and hopefully this time he would give in to her overprotective nature and let himself be coddled just a bit, like he had when they were children, and he'd let her kiss better the fingers he'd scraped falling from the tree in their backyard.

He'd warned her, of course, that he was still carrying some things with him from his experience. She knew there would be nightmares, but how was she supposed to explain that awful screaming to her children? To her husband, who had only agreed to allow Daniel to stay because he was family? He'd been suspicious of the blood and bruises and the hollowness in Daniel's eyes, and the nightly screaming was quickly becoming more than he could bear. She placated him as well as she could, telling him that Daniel would be gone soon, that he was heading back off to Africa, and that there were only a few more nights he'd have to bear sitting across from Daniel during dinner, watching him pick sullenly at his food.

Once, he'd caught the children going through his things, checking his pockets for anything edible or amusing to a child, and he'd caught them and scolded them fiercely. In the middle of his shouting, though, he'd suddenly paused when the youngest began to whimper. He fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands. He'd gathered them close and whispered frantic, tearful apologies. This, they found, was even more frightening than the scolding. Their own father had never cut short his reprimands like this. They all knew they'd done wrong in touching their uncle's belongings. It simply wasn't natural.

One night another appeared at their door, summoned seemingly out of nowhere, garbed in khaki and with the slightly possessive air of a seasoned explorer. She was puzzled at first, as she hadn't seen Daniel writing anything recently, and was suddenly disappointed that he hadn't trusted her with something as simple as the act of sending a letter. She'd shown the man upstairs and listened to them speak in hushed tones about a second trip to Africa, and plans to finish something they'd started the first time. It was not her place to intrude, but her curiosity got the better of her and she knocked on the door under the guise of innocently bringing them tea. They'd let her in, and it became clear that Daniel was planning to leave even sooner than she'd thought. A large map of the African continent was splayed out over the floor, looking old and tattered and well-used. On the bed a suitcase stood open, ready to be filled with the sturdy clothing of imperialism. Even the lantern, which Daniel had clung so desperately to that first night, stood cleaned and prepared to light whatever dank Ethiope jungles they might tread. She'd smiled and asked if they needed anything else, and when they refused, she exited to linger outside the door and listen.

She'd known she would be sad to see him go, as she would have been with any of her siblings, but the urgency with which he and the man spoke, the dark lines of ink on the map, and the nightmares Daniel woke screaming from every night and refused to discuss with her, all of these gave her the dreadful notion that she might never see him again.

As expected, he left in the night. She awoke in time to hear the clatter of wooden wheels on cobble, but there was no use chasing after the coach. He hadn't wanted to say goodbye, perhaps knowing how she would've begged him to stay just one more night as images of pits lined with wooden stakes and men with their dark faces splashed white ran though her head. It was wrong to hold him back, she knew this, but he'd always be her baby brother. Little Daniel who couldn't even climb a tree without falling down halfway. He'd just have to get back up on his own this time, no matter the darkness that still seemed to cling to him long after the sun had risen.