Jane trembled with excitement. She was certain they would be able to eat their fill.
"We have so much food." Her younger sister wiped away her tears and turned to Jane with a filthy little grin. "It's almost our turn."
Feeling her sister's small hand clutching tightly to hers, Jane's gaze hardened. If she died, her timid little sister would surely be violated by those bastards, then die forgotten in some cold corner.
She had to live.
"No grabbing, no reaching out on your own. Your filthy hands will ruin the porridge." The villager serving food cursed as he waved the stick in his hand. With the other hand, he scooped a ladle of porridge from a clay vat—watery, with only a sparse scattering of barley grains. Even dogs would have turned up their noses at it.
"It smells so good! So many grains!" Clara's eyes went wide. She let go of her sister's hand on her own. Porridge this thick was something you only saw during festivals.
