is her quarry; Hamid chases a

Vina's love affair with dragonflies dates back to Koningsstraat, where she would catch them in the garden, then transport them to her bedroom, clip their wings, and turn them loose to watch them flail about then flop...

...an end uninteresting to Hamid, who is much less analytical. His objective (cap-assisted) is to swipe at, stun, then squash, dispensing foot-stomp death with devil-may-care delight. 

Mutually preoccupied, the children lose their bearings, on a jaunt that takes them far afield, the kampung left behind, their paths divergent (in that zigs and zags have led them off on tangents), their proximity to each other fairly close (if un-designed). The island's native population (insubstantial due to hardship) is far-flung to nonexistent, on this tract whereon they stray (reserved for wildlife, evidently, as defined by prey and predator; with an Ora in the neighborhood, which are they?)

Danger, like a jumpy nerve, gets many people anxious. When it threatens, most will run away - or freeze to hope and pray the wave won't drown them, fire won't cook them, wind won't blow them helter-skelter. They are fearful. Death or injury, as potential, makes them quake. They go all twitchy, pale, and dry-mouthed. Some may pee their pants, or panties. Whereas others simply cannot cope; they swoon or outright faint, as if unconsciousness might somehow turn the danger less 'terrific' - or 'exciting' to the few who keep eyes peeled, who welcome fright, who think of danger as a spice that adds adventure to experience, puts a thrill in dealings common, sends a chill down blasť spines, who find security somewhat stifling, who are fiercely independent, who would rather make mistakes themselves than follow sound advice, and who, if saddled with a bodyguard, oft' evades... 

...or does her best.

Vina's willful detours have succeeded; Dede falters. From the thicket, that they all-three entered, out pops only he, to dive back in again with panic pounding drum rolls through his ribcage, pulse a metronome gone haywire, panting pores a sieve for sweat. It is his livelihood, at stake, his reputation and his honor. Harm, of any kind, must NOT befall...

The birds have ceased to chirp! An eerie hush brings Dede's headlong rush to a halt. Stock-still, he listens. Bugs, attracted to his salty flesh, alight. He does not flinch. He knows that silence is a warning; stealth itself is in the offing, on the prowl, or poised to pounce, to swoop, to strike, perchance to...

SHRIEK! A shrill alarm cry signals madcap desperation. An accipiter spooks the residents. 

Stabbed by talons, hangs its prey, four limbs gone limp among the tree's - arboreal playground turned to graveyard, monkeyshine transformed to monkey-shade, raw youth reduced to meat...

...as Dede, reassured the primate slain is not the boss's daughter, spies another luckless carcass: colorful, stomped to mush,  de-winged, its fate a tribute to the Race Which Kills For Sport.

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