He had never eaten so earnestly, so desperately. Warm butter slid between his fingers and over his knuckles, and the juices oozed hot from the slab of meat, bathing the fresh baked loaf in rich, steaming flavor. Sensation had left him, save that of the delicious goodness in his mouth and the empty craving of his stomach. He sank his teeth into the feast before him, and raising his eyes saw a young child, a yard or two distant, watching him. It was the baker’s boy.
Continue reading at Wallie’s Wentletrap
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 