Agnes stands in her living room, and watches the fire as it burns low in the hearth. The fire smolders along the edges of its embers, flickering dark orange to red and back again. It will go out soon, likely in the next twenty minutes. She’ll be back in fifteen, with luck.
She runs a finger along the handle of her woven basket, then sets it in front of the fire. “I offer bread, to fill your stomach. Wine, to quenc...
