"If you agree to be my host, we will fight the Goa'uld together," the dying man said, with a strange, distorted voice.

Around us the world was burning, the houses in my village on fire, my parents and my siblings dead. Only I was left - and this strange, mortally injured man, speaking with a voice I had only previously heard from the gods. And this was obviously no god. I look towards were my mother and father lie dead, and my lips quiver, and I feel tears starting to run. Tomorrow is my twelfth birthday. I am too old to behave like a little child. "I am sorry for crying," I apologize, afraid, so afraid, that the strange man will leave me too. That I will be completely alone. No one else left alive. Unless the Jaffa come back, and then I will almost certainly die too. Perhaps that would be better?

"Do not be sorry. It is natural to be afraid - but you must choose soon. I am dying from my wounds, my host is already gone, and I cannot survive for much longer." He gives me a sad smile. "My name is Lantash."

"Martouf... and I will be your host," I decide. At least I will not be alone, never again be alone, and maybe I will get a chance to avenge my family.