The following morning, the atmosphere within the hut was unexpectedly light, as if the heavy shroud of mourning had finally been bleached away by the persistent rays of the rising sun. Nula was the first to rise, her movements graceful and unburdened by the usual lithic weight of grief that had characterized her last fortnight. She moved through her morning chores with a rhythmic efficiency, the familiar clatter of pots and the sweeping of the floor acting as a gentle alarm for the rest of the household.
Fuyu and Manu woke to the scent of breakfast and the sight of their mother humming a soft, wordless tune. Manu leaned toward Fuyu, his voice a low, subvocal rumble. "Hah... look at her, Fuyu. Mom is in such a good mood today. After so many dark days, she finally looks at peace. I really can't muster the strength to drop the military news on her now. It would be like throwing a stone into a clear pond just to watch the mud rise again."
