It wasn’t Cain’s oldest memory, not by a long run but it was one he thought of all the more in recent days. It was one of him as a child on the streets of Rome. It was so many centuries ago he wouldn’t even remember the ear but he did remember how he felt. He was cold, stricken with fever and so hungry he could think of nothing else. The pain in his stomach had gotten so bad it stabbed up into his chest. He could remember the feeling as he walked, looking desperately for anything he could eat. Scraps from the table or a fallen scrap of meat not yet carried off by stray dogs, anything at all. He just couldn’t find anything and it was getting dark and the stalls in the market square were all starting to close.
