I was eight years old when my three brothers and I caught Cornucopia. This was twenty-four years ago, and we were all starving to death during the famine on Polvo, our homeworld.
We sneaked over the wall of the estate where Cornucopia lived, and then we threw a net over her and hauled her to a shack out in Barrio Sucio.
We cheered and laughed as we tied her up, because we were heroes. We were too late to save poor dead Mama and Papa, but we’d saved ourselves and our friends. Maybe we’d even saved the whole barrio.
It had been so long since we’d eaten well, we’d forgotten what real food tasted like. Now, we had a living, breathing Ration all to ourselves. If we took good enough care of her, we might never go hungry again, no matter how long the famine lasted on our world.
At least
