Damon.
Dinner was quiet at first. The kind that isn’t awkward not exactly but thick. The type that lets you know everyone’s thinking something they don’t plan to say yet. Elder Toma had gone all out tonight (roasted game meat, thick root stew that was still steamed in its carved wooden bowls, bread that somehow stayed soft on the inside while the crust cracked just right.
Her husband Max had picked some wild berries for dessert and they were sitting in a bowl at the center of the table untouched. We were all seated around their tiny, square wooden table that rocked a little if you leaned too hard on the east corner.
I’d taken the seat near the wall so I could see the door. Willow sat beside me but not too close. Her hair was tied back in a simple braid that looked better than I though
