Elara's pov
The afternoon faded into evening, and the work did not stop.
The lines grew shorter. The grain ran out. The volunteers packed up the tables and counted what was left and told the last people waiting that there would be more tomorrow. I helped stack the empty sacks. I carried the last of the supplies. I moved through the motions like I had been doing it my whole life.
The girls I had been working with were packing up near me. We had been together all day, lifting and carrying and passing grain to the hands that reached for us. They had accepted me without question, the way strangers do when shared labour creates the shorthand of acquaintance. I had given them a name that was not mine. They had given me theirs. It was surprisingly, almost painfully, uncomplicated.
One of them was tying off the last sack.
"Are you coming tonight?" she asked.
I looked up. "Tonight?"
