8. When We Are In Need -

No answer. Only the wind and the scratching of branches against the eaves.

Across from him sat Clara. She was wrapped in three wool blankets, her face a sharp wedge of white against the dark fur of the collar. Her breath came in shallow, rattling bursts that seemed to shake the very rafters. Every few minutes, a cough would tear through her, and she would double over, her small frame convulsing. Elias would stop whittling then. His hand would freeze, the knife hovering a hair’s breadth from the wood, until the silence returned. Only then would the scrape-scrape continue. 8. When We Are in Need

He looked at the stranger. The old man wasn't looking at him. He was looking past Elias, toward the corner where Clara lay, her eyes wide and reflecting the firelight. No answer