The aroma of spices and tomato sauce filled the air, making my mouth water. The metal utensil which I had awkwardly positioned between my fingers felt foreign. The men and women around the table made small chatter as the evening went on and the meals were being eaten. I watched as they shared stories and laughed amongst each other. I did not belong here, here I was the outsider.
I was definitely out of place, too out of place. A warm plate of lasagna, or at least what Luna said it was, sat in front of me. I could not even remember the last time I held a fork, let alone sat at a table or was given a meal. I've always hunted for my meals, fended for myself for years. I watched as the Luna made large helpings of food and now these men and women are just eating like it's nothing, like it does
