The wooden spoon scraped against the chipped ceramic bowl as the boy scooped up another mouthful of mashed potatoes. Steam rose from the simple meal, mixing with the warmth of twenty other breathing bodies packed around the long oak table.
"Sister, the mashed potatoes are so good, thank you!"
A freckled boy around ten years old beamed up at the woman sitting at the head of the table. His cheeks were round with food, and a bit of potato stuck to his chin.
Children of all ages filled the benches on both sides of the table. The youngest was barely four, needing help to hold her spoon properly. The oldest looked to be around sixteen, their faces already showing the hard edges that came from knowing the world wasn't kind.
The woman they called Sister wore simple robes of white and black. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and deep lines marked the corners of her eyes. But when she smiled at the children, those lines made her face look warm instead of stern.
