The food the Weatherhills are getting can't stretch any further than it is. The family's stores lasted them a few weeks, but since then they've been relying on what the organizers can spare: Soup that's watered down, bread that isn't filling, and meat? Not a chance. When they're lucky it's been a bit of fruit preserves, even if there's nothing to eat it with.

They're growing paler, more tired. Worst of all, they've got two children in their group to care for. A ten year old can be told that there's no more food, that what they get in any given moment is all they'll have that day. But a toddler? There's no consoling a child who's never known hunger like this when words hardly have meaning on the best of days.

Jacob and Heather's little boy doesn't have it in him to wail anymore, but one dark evening after rations have been served he sobs quietly to himself. What he was given wasn't enough. He's a growing child, and he's starving, and he doesn't understand.

Of course his mother and father do what they have to: They give him what they have. One day without food for Jacob. He can survive that. He's been through worse in Westfall. All of this will pass for him and for his wife. But for their child?

Just for this evening he can eat a little extra bread, a little more thin soup.