The storm shows no signs of letting up. The rain continues to fall in a relentless, grey curtain, turning the world outside into a watercolor painting blurred and indistinct. The hours pass in a slow, sluggish procession, marked only by the refilling of mugs and the slow, methodical consumption of the food Tomas has brought back.
Elara devours her meal with a single-minded focus that speaks of a long and profound hunger. She eats like she's afraid someone's going to take it away from her, her small hands shoveling food into her mouth with a speed that would be impressive if it weren't so heartbreaking. May, sitting beside her, watches with a mixture of fascination and a little bit of envy, her own half-eaten plate of food forgotten for the moment.
