It shook her entire body as she huddled around herself, hands digging into her arms and shoulders. She rocked, the chair beneath her creaking with each movement. Her wailing filled the small home, swirling around the air like a wasp digging its way into the ear, burrowing its way deeper. “Stell, pull yourself together!” her husband barked. If Stell pulls herself together any more, Alan-a-Dale mused, she will fold like a sheet. He didn’t smile at the thought, holding his face blank. Instead, he touched the man on his shoulder, long slender fingers barely brushing cloth. “Let us step outside and give her a moment.” The man nodded and Alan motioned him toward the door. Together they picked their way over the objects littering the floor. Broken dishes, keepsakes, books, all pulled from the shelves by uncaring hands. The only chair on four legs was the one on which Stell still huddled. She stopped rocking and watched them leave the house, her eyes red and raw. Alan ducked under the lintel and stepped out into the small garden.
