" Gorrión took away his arm from my shoulder and walked away into the shadows of the fire again, and I was afraid, and as the men descended on me like a pack of wolves, I held on to the only thing I had left—the sound of my pet name, the one from the time of before, Petro, how nice it sounded to my ears. "

― Ingrid Rojas Contreras , Fruit of the Drunken Tree