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Watching a petite girl devour three entire bowls of pottage—and still reaching for more—was, oddly enough, mesmerizing. Johannes couldn’t help but wonder where all that food went, as Abigail showed no sign of slowing down while Margaret diligently kept the dining table stocked. He had half-expected the girl to eat like some wild animal, scooping food with her hands or slurping directly from the bowl. Instead, she used her spoon in a neat manner, even taking her time to savor each bite. She just happened to have a stomach like a bottomless ravine.

“Dang it, girl. If I didn’t know better, I’d reckon you’re feedin’ an entire orphanage with how much you’re packin’ away.”

“Hush now, you.” Margaret swatted her husband lightly on the back of the head. “A growin’ child needs her nutrients. Don’t you worry, sweetheart—eat as much as you like. We’ve got plenty, and whatever’s left over just ends up as pig feed anyhow.”

“Un… Thank you, Mrs. Margaret,” Abigail replied with a small nod before resuming her meal.

“Say, kid,” Johannes spoke up after watching Abigail finish her fourth bowl and reach for the fifth. “You got a home to go back to? Yer folks ‘round here?”

“No.” Abigail shook her head subtly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margaret leaned forward, her tone gentle. “Mind if I ask where yer from, darlin’? Sorry, but you don’t look like yer from ‘round these parts.” She paused, softening her voice further as Abigail lowered her spoon. “You don’t gotta answer if you don’t feel up to it.”

Abigail fell silent. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to answer; it was that she couldn’t. Who was she, really? The grey-haired girl with a warm house overlooking a flower-filled hill? Or the entity from an alien world of concrete and steel? Was she Abigail, the mind—or Abigail, the body? She had avoided grappling with this question for so long, but perhaps now was the time.

Then again, one thing was clear: both the girl and the entity shared something in common.

“I’m from… a very far place,” she said finally.

A place that now existed only as a fading memory. Even if she could go back, there would be no one waiting. Not for the girl. Not for the entity. She—Abigail—was now in a land of strangers, far from the concept of home, wherever that may have been.

“That so?” Johannes muttered, exchanging a knowing glance with Margaret. His suspicions were all but confirmed.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetheart,” Margaret said quickly, her tone warm and reassuring. “You’re safe here with us now, and we’ll help ya sort things out. Mkay?” She reached over and brushed a strand of silver hair from Abigail’s cheek, marveling at how smooth and silky it felt beneath her fingers.

With a grunt, Johannes pushed himself up from his chair. The creaking sound that followed made it hard to tell whether it came from the chair or his joints.

“Aight, kid. Once ya done stuffing yer face, come see me outside,” he said, rubbing his lower back. “We ain’t runnin’ no charity here; high time you pull yer weight.”

A few minutes later, Abigail stepped out of the house, her long silver hair tied neatly into a ponytail.

“Took ya long enough,” Johannes grumbled, hands planted on his hips. “C’mon.” He led her around the house to an iron structure hidden behind the barn. It supported a large, wooden vessel that resembled a water tank.

“See that there? That’s a water tower,” he said, gesturing toward it. “Feeds water to the house and barn, but now and again, some fool bird gets itself stuck in there and fouls it up. All ya gotta do’s check fer anythin’ sittin’ in it and make sure the lid’s good’n tight. Ain’t nothin’ fancy. I’d handle it myself if my knees weren’t hollerin’ bloody murder. Reckon yer up to it?”

Abigail gave the tower a quick look. It wasn’t very high, maybe five meters at most. Rolling up the sleeves of her white shirt, she nodded.

She climbed the tower with surprising ease, reaching the top so quickly that Johannes barely had time to process how she’d managed it. At the top, Abigail lifted the heavy metal lid and peered inside. Her reflection stared back at her from the water’s surface. Other than a few blades of grass and some small bits of gravel, the water looked clean.

“How’s it lookin’?” Johannes called up to her. “Anythin’ nasty in there?”

“No, it’s clean.”

“That so? Well, get on down here, then. We seein’ the water wheel next.”

Abigail slid the lid back into place and jumped down in one smooth motion. She landed light as a feather, her shoes barely making a sound against the dirt. Johannes gave her an approving glance, one brow raised. “Some nimble feet y’got there, kid. C’mon, work’s awaitin’.”

With Johannes leading the way, they soon arrived at a tranquil creek where a small wooden water wheel turned gently among the reeds. Coiled tubes spiraled around the wheel, rotating at an unhurried pace.

“See where it stops spinnin’?” Johannes pointed to the base of the water wheel, where two pieces of bamboo met between some rocks. Water dripped steadily from the slit between them. One end of the bamboo sat fixed on a rock platform, while the other connected to the coiled tubes on the wheel, turning along with it. “There’s a spigot between ’em—a smaller piece that holds ’em together. You’re supposed to swap it out now and then, ‘cause it don’t last long. My hips’re givin’ me grief every time I crouch lately, so it’s been waitin’. That’s where you come in.”

He handed Abigail a small, carefully carved piece of bamboo.

“What… do I do with this?” she asked, staring at it with uncertainty.

“Just put it in the socket,” Johannes replied, but her confused expression lingered. He clicked his tongue in mild irritation and elaborated. “Yank the wheel loose first, kid. You’ll see the socket I’m talkin’ about.”

Following his instructions, Abigail pulled the wheel free from its base. It was heavier than she expected, but still manageable. Water streamed steadily from the bamboo piece on the ground. She noticed a smaller piece jutting from the base—a worn, cracked bamboo piece that resembled the replacement in her hand.

“Yep, that’s the spigot. Pull it out, stick the new one in, then set the wheel back in place. Simple as that.”

She nodded and got to work. Removing the damaged spigot was straightforward, and inserting the new one was even easier. Once she secured it, she repositioned the wheel. As it resumed its lazy rotation, scooping water into its coiled tubes, the slit between the bamboo pieces no longer leaked.

Johannes crossed his arms as he watched the wheel work. “Funny, ain’t it? The water from down here’ll climb all the way up the hill to the tower. —See, kid, that’s life for ya. Just like this wheel, it goes up and it goes down, always turnin’. And sometimes, somethin’ inside you breaks. When it does, you stop, take a breather, and fix what needs fixin’. Ain’t no sense holdin’ on to what’s busted. Just keep movin’, and life’ll take ya to whatever height you’re meant for.”

Abigail didn’t say anything, letting his words settle in silence.

“Aight, now let’s fix some roofs.” With that, Johannes led her to their next task.

A few hours later, Abigail returned to the house, covered in dirt and soil. Her white shirt had turned brown, and her hair was a tangled mess. Margaret gasped at the sight, immediately rounding on Johannes with an earful, while Abigail was sent off to shower for the second time that day.

♢♦♢♦♢

Even as dusk approached, the farm remained alive with sound. Insects buzzed in the tall grass, chickens clucked restlessly, pigs let out the occasional squeal, and Dusty the donkey punctuated the evening with a bray, completing the symphony of rural life.

Margaret sat in her easy chair, glasses perched on her nose, engrossed in a well-worn book. The soft creak of the wooden floor announced Abigail’s approach. In her hand, she held a pair of scissors.

“Excuse me,” Abigail said softly.

Margaret looked up, slipping her glasses off. “What’s it, dear?”

“Could I… ask you to help me cut my hair?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Margaret smiled, closing her book and setting it aside.

They moved to the attic—a recently cleaned bedroom that would be Abigail’s accommodation for the night. There were some broken pots and forgotten junk tucked into a corner, hiding under the same cover as a wooden horse and other toys.

Under the warm glow of the oil lamp, Abigail sat quietly in the center of the room. The sharp snip of the scissors filled the air as Margaret worked with steady, gentle hands, trimming Abigail’s hair little by little.

“Such beautiful hair,” Margaret began, running her fingers gently through the silver strands. “Almost a shame to cut it.”

“Yes, but… I’ve decided I need to move on,” Abigail replied, her voice steady but soft.

“That right?” Snap. Margaret snipped off a lock. “Y’know, I always wanted a daughter. Trimmin’ her hair, dressin’ her up—just like this. Made me downright giddy seein’ how my old blouse fits like it was made for ya. And Johannes, well, he’d never say it outright, but he’s tickled pink havin’ you ‘round. Took you all over the farm and such. Just don’t go lettin’ him know I said so.”

Margaret chuckled quietly. Meanwhile, down the hill, Johannes sneezed as he trekked toward a nearby settlement with Bernard the dog trotting beside him.

Snap.

“Johannes and me, we always dreamed of raisin’ a family in this house. Livin’ the farm life, raisin’ a young’un—that was the plan. …But the Lord Almighty had other ideas. Tried for years and nothin’. Just when we’d made peace with it, long into our autumn years, along came Junior. And lemme tell ya, that boy was a real firecracker.”

Snap.

“He wouldn’t mind a single thing I said. Breakin’ plates just for the fuss of it. Chasin’ the pigs ‘til they squealed. Climbin’ the water tower like he was part monkey. Slipped into town more times than I care to count. Lord above, he had me pullin’ my hair out more than once, that one. A little troublemaker straight outta my own belly.”

Snap. Her chuckle faltered, a sob slipping through as she continued.

“Sixteen years back, when the Old Empire was still kickin’, we took Junior to town for his tenth birthday. Been on about wantin’ a puppy, so we figured we’d surprise him. Told him plain as day not to wander off—warned him, over and over—but, ‘course, he didn’t listen. I just… I just wish I’d held on tighter to his hand…” Margaret’s voice cracked as she wiped her eyes, her hands trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Betcha didn’t come up here to hear an old woman’s ramblin’.”

“No, please continue. I want to hear the rest,” Abigail said softly, her eyes steady.

Margaret hesitated but gave a small nod, resuming her work with the scissors.

Snap.

“Folks said they saw him hangin’ ‘round the refugees. We lit out quick, got there, and they said he’d been with the guards. Asked the guards, and they swore up and down there wasn’t no missin’ child. We looked high and low—flipped every stone, opened every door. Turned Lamra inside out, but still couldn’t find him.”

Snap

“Deep down, I kept hopin’ he was just up to one of his tricks—hidin’, gigglin’, waitin’ to see us all tied in knots, then wanderin’ home when he got tuckered out. Every day, we waited for him to come back through that door with that goofy grin of his. But he never did. He was… gone.”

Snap.

“Johannes went ‘round askin’ his old war buddies, thinkin’ maybe someone’d carted him off to Yariah’s ports. But that turned up nothin’. And me? All I could do was pray. Every single day, I’d hike up to that little church on the hill, beggin’ the Lord to bring my boy home safe. Snow, storm, rain, or wind—I was there, prayin’. But it’s mighty hard when your God don’t say nothin’ back. When all ya got’s faith, but no answers. And harder still, seein’ Yamato and her Deities workin’ miracles plain as day, while your own God… just sits there, silent.”

Snap.

Margaret’s hands paused for a moment, her grip on the scissors tightening before she continued.

“Grief’s a nasty blade, it is. Cuts deeper’n any knife I ever known. Hides in the quiet corners of yer home, waitin’ to jab ya when ya ain’t lookin’. Turns good memories sour, laughter into tears. Damn near broke my faith clean in two, this close to tearing Johannes and me apart. —But we got through it.”

Snap.

“We kept on goin’. Didn’t know where the road’d lead, but we held tight to believin’ the Lord Almighty’s got a plan. Still does.”

Snap

“And there ya have it,” Margaret said, setting the scissors aside and wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. She picked up a hand mirror and showed it to Abigail. “Was a bit nervous how it’d turn out, but reckon it’s better’n I thought. What d’ya think?”

Abigail gazed at her reflection. Her head felt significantly lighter, her silver hair now trimmed to just brush her shoulders. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She took the mirror, studying her reflection longer, finding the traces of the grey-haired girl in it.

Margaret smiled softly and bent down to fold the newspaper she’d laid out to catch the fallen strands.

“…Thank you,” Abigail repeated, her tone quieter, more somber. Her face was turned away, hidden from view.

Margaret hesitated, a pang of emotion stirring within her, before she found the strength to reply. “You’re welcome, dear.”

♢♦♢♦♢

It was late into the night when Johannes finally trudged back home with Bernard. He found Margaret at the dinner table, unusually quiet. Bracing for her wrath, he blurted out the first excuse that came to mind.

“Jacob’s folks held me up with supper. Told ‘em I just needed a quick favor, but he wouldn’t let me leave without tryin’ Sasha’s blood puddin’,” he said in a rush, dusting off his clothes. “We got to talkin’ about the girl. He’s willin’ to take her to Havenna tomorrow, long as we watch their cows while he’s gone, and—”

“Maybe she don’t need to go to Havenna,” Margaret interrupted.

“…What’re you gettin’ at?”

Margaret looked him square in the eye. “What’s she gonna do there? Who’s gonna feed her? How’s it any better, leavin’ a kid all on her own in a town full o’ strangers?”

“So what? We keep her here? She ain’t no stray cat, woman. You don’t just pick up kids and call it done.”

“She could have a home here,” Margaret said, calm but firm. “Oh, don’t gimme that, Johannes. We both know we’re too old to be runnin’ this place all on our own. How much longer you think we can keep hollerin’ for Jacob every time your hips give out?”

“That ain’t no excuse to be takin’ in some runaway slave. And what’re we gonna do if her captors come sniffin’ ‘round fer the kid?”

“What, you scared of the guards now? Thought you’d be flashin’ those guns o’ yours,” Margaret shot back, arms crossed.

“You’ve lost your damn mind, woman.”

Johannes stormed off into the bedroom and flung himself onto the bed, rubbing his temples in frustration. Bernard whimpered at the sight of his distressed owners, his ears drooping. Margaret, meanwhile, let out a weary sigh, her expression unreadable.

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