Martha also emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron, her eyes all but overflowing with warmth and affection.
Without taking no for an answer, she pulled Solomon into a seat, served him a steaming bowl of black pepper beef stew and freshly baked apple pie, and pressed utensils into his hands:
"Go on, try it. You've been out all day-you must be starving! Make yourself at home, and don't stand on ceremony."
At the dinner table, Clark chatted enthusiastically about the afternoon's little incidents on the farm, and the atmosphere was warm and harmonious.
At that moment, there were no deadly threats from gods, no political calculations by those in power, and certainly no endless plunder and slaughter.
This small wooden house, cramped yet full of everyday warmth, actually allowed Solomon, who had grown accustomed to selfishness and coldness, to experience a stillness and peace he had not felt in a long time.
After dinner, Clark went to the backyard to put away the farm tools, while Martha brought over a freshly brewed cup of hot black tea and gently set it before Solomon.
She then sat down across from him, the soft light illuminating the gentle wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
Martha watched Solomon quietly, her gaze carrying a distinctly maternal concern:
"Solomon, you hide it well, but from the moment you walked through the door, I could tell... there's a deep exhaustion in your eyes. Have you run into some serious trouble that's left you feeling helpless?"
Solomon cradled the teacup, feeling its slight warmth against his palms.
He fell silent for a moment, then finally just gave a bitter chuckle and shook his head:
"It's nothing, Martha. I just suddenly realized today that this world is much bigger and more dangerous than I imagined."
Martha