Like his sexual urge, it seemed to have disappeared altogether. But he certainly feels no less human in consequence. These days he eats enough to keep going. It sometimes surprises him what meagre nourishment he requires. He sees this as a great advantage. Even with what the gifted forager brings in, food is scarce. The five others are young, with sharp physical needs and desires. His tiny daily repast barely cuts into their supply. So where exactly is he drawing his energy? Harry believes he feeds on his memories of the two places he loved most in his life. And on hope, as well. Often, his hope centres on a bird. Harry is not particular. It need not be a bird with a melodious song, or indeed any song at all. A croak, a caw, a cacophonous blast from a stretched throat, he would rejoice at any such sound as long as its maker was a bird. This is his dearest wish: that before he dies, he might once again see and hear a bird. It is not just a selfish wish, for Harry is certain that the bird’s return will signal the world’s redemption.
