After returning to the farm, Katrina prepared the crayfish to eat with the salad, while Richard chopped wood for the range.
“Dinner is ready,” she called out.
“Coming,” he shouted back, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
He looked at Katrina and how she gracefully set the table and thought she was the most beautiful girl on earth. It was impressive how she managed to prepare filling, delicious meals day after day from not much more than wild plants and trapped animals. Some days, like today, she added an egg or two from the two remaining hens.
“This tastes so good, Katrina, I don’t know how you do it,” Richard said, spearing another bite on his fork. “Reminds me of home. You’d love my mother and sisters. Maybe one day we can all be together.” Usually he forba
