“Da, ‘m hungry,” Ciaran said. He hunched next to the hearthstone, flint in hand, and stared despondently at the cauldron full of stew waiting to cook.
“In a moment, son - Aoife and I will be done in a moment.” Eoghan was especially nice to widows.
Most days Ciaran would join in his father’s sympathy, but today he was too hungry to care.
“Can I just -”
“No,” Eoghan said. “I’ll start the fire. In a moment.”
Ciaran sighed and sat back on his haunches. He’d seen the fear in his father’s eyes the first time he’d started a fire for himself.
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