Coming to the front door, a man paused on the porch and stared me up and down. I lay in the grass trembling, my cloak and gown in a heap around me. The whole world blurred and teetered, and black dots obstructed my vision. “She needs help, Father,” the boy begged. He kneeled at my side and peered down at me, his deep brown eyes filled with concern. He felt my forehead with trembling fingers. “I think she came from the woods; she must be hungry.” Another friend? Shelter? Food? I hoped. Without a word, the boy’s father turned and slammed the front door. After several minutes he appeared again in front of me, shoving a slice of bread and a cup of water in my face. Somehow my senses sharpened at the sight of food and I found strength to snatch at them. I devoured the bread, not caring as crumbs spilled down my front, then gulped down the water, savoring every drop. My empty stomach growled for more; the water seemed to slosh in the vast empty space left inside me. The man lifted me into his arms and carried me, the boy trotting along behind him.
