Elara's POV
The afternoon sun was high now, hot on my neck, and my arms felt like they might fall off.
I had been lifting sacks of grain for hours. First from the wagons to the tables. Then from the tables to the hands of the people waiting. Then, when the tables ran low, back to the wagons to fetch more. The work was simple and endless. Lift. Carry. Pass. Lift. Carry. Pass. My hands were raw. My shoulders ached. The muscles in my back screamed every time I bent down.
But I kept going.
The other volunteers moved around me, doing the same work, not stopping, not complaining. A woman beside me had been here since before dawn. A young man across the table had a cut on his hand that he hadn't bothered to bandage. No one asked for a break. No one sat down. The lines of people were still long, and the grain was still on the wagons, and the work was not done.
I bent down for another sack.
