The sun was now well down. Lamps and fires flickered here and there, in the more sturdy looking buildings the glow of red stone could be seen through slats in windows. Sai lived far down the hill, towards the more run down district, but his home itself was not so terrible. It was more than Yabona had at least. It was four walls, thatch roof, and a private entrance. Sai's parents were artisans, poor yet still employed. His mother wove fabric, his father wove baskets. There was a clatter inside, and through the cracks in the not perfectly constructed door they could see movement.

“Wait here,” Sai said, and he made for the door. “I might be awhile.”

He paused again after opening the door, looking back into the little alley that his home abutted. Yabona could hardly be seen in the dark.

The smell of cooking millet wafted at him, coming from the pot hung over the fire in the center of the abodes only room. His Mother was ladling out portions into well worn wooden bowls, presently passing one to his Father, who took one look at his son and shook his head.

“You should be more careful, if you get hurt too badly we won't be able to fix you.”

His Mother gave his Father a pointed look, and she stood to check Sai's bruises. Sai pushed her away.

“I am okay,” he said, taking his place at the fire.

“So where were you then? Not looking for work, I take it.”

“Hush dear, not now.”

“Your brother is finishing his exams. I hear he'll be a clerk soon.”

Sai spooned millet into his mouth. He did not meet his Father's gaze, who was splayed out languidly across the crackling fire. He had glassy eyes, the stink of wine on him.

“And you not but a pit to throw food into.” His Father scoffed.

At this Sai did raise his head, fierce, a challenge. His Mother tensed. His Father only laughed.

“No sense in beating you, someone already did that for me.”

Sai stood and turned for the door. His Mother called out. His Father told her not to bother.

It took time for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The night seemed thick. Blinking he carefully made his way off the step, down into the alley where Yabona was hopefully waiting. As sorry as he felt for himself, he felt sorrier for her. His hearth might be unwelcoming, but at least it was a hearth.

“That didn't sound good,” the shape of her whispered.

Sai shook his head, and gestured further down the alley. Her shadow got up, started to walk that way.

“It is not much,” he said once they were far enough away. He did not fear his Father. He feared his Father would snatch back the food he intended to give away.

Yabona tried not to show any eagerness, and failed. She was ladling heaping mouthfuls and muttering thanks between swallows.

Sai nodded. It felt good to help. He sat down.

“Not so good with the parents, huh?” She sat down too, loosing the spoon briefly in the dirt of the alley. She tried to clean it on her equally dirty shirt. “I heard him...”

“Where are your parents?”

Her chewing slowed pace. The alley was quiet enough to hear her swallow.

“Dead,” she said.

Sai nodded. He could feel her tense, after a spell she let out a gust of air. Her words came thick and slow.

“The wars. Dad went to fight. Mom went with him. They left me with my uncle.” Her voice was distant, hollow.

“And where is-”

“Dead too. Caught sick. Seven months ago.” Yabona sighed, and stretched, and her tone was more cheerful. “I've been out here since. Good and bad days, you know?”

And though he could not see more than the impression of her, he was sure she was grinning there in the dark, grains stuck to her teeth. The thought made him smile.

“You are brave, I think,” he said. And he meant it. He did not believe he would fare half so well out on the streets alone, surely within seven months he would have starved. And to be cheerful through it. To be expressive. To look at him earnestly and say, “there were good days.” For Sai, even here, with a home, a loving Mother and a trying Father, there were no good days. He felt himself slipping into one of his moods. He thought of the tests and how he had failed them. How he was lacking, 'in the head,' the inspector had said.

Not like his brother. Taku was bright. Taku would save the family. Father said so.

“And you're not?”

Sai shook his head.

“Please, I saw how you fought those guys. Like a cat, er, a big one, you know like in the mountains? Not the little ones. Well maybe little now but soon...”

Sai chuckled. And was surprised to hear it, even embarrassed.

“You're pretty good with that sword too, well the chunk of wood.” She mimed an overhead stroke with the spoon.

“I have only just started. And I won't be going back.” Not until he could come up with 20 mon. Perhaps he could find work, somewhere, and hide enough from his Father to continue training. But that had thus far been a fruitless venture. No one had any use for him. They chased him away.

“No money huh?” She said dumbly.

He did not reply.

Yabona returned to eating, they sat in silence for awhile. Eventually the bowl was emptied, her scrapings stopped.

“My parents wish I would go,” he said, maudlin, at a whisper. It wasn't exactly true. His Mother did not. And once neither did his Father, back before the factories. When they could each make an honest living through an honest trade. Now the makings of their hands were rough and slow to fruition. The factories could make thirty times what a craftsman could, and often a touch more fair. He knew all about it from his Father.

Yabona shrugged. “At least they feed you.”

There was that.

At length he stood. “I cannot give you more. I wish you could stay, but he would never allow it. Perhaps I can get a blanket...”

Yabona sprung to her feet, handing over the bowl. She dry washed her hands and shook her head. “You've done enough, Sai. Thanks.”

He met what he thought were her eyes in the dark, and not knowing what to do, bowed. He hurried back the way he came.

His Father was mercifully snoring.