Eleanor and Everard winced as the stones and rocks on the ground dug into their bare feet, walking towards what they hoped was a different fate. Eleanor had never been this hungry, exhausted, or hopeless in all fifteen years of her life. Life before the sickness seemed so far away. How pretty the sun had been, and the flowers on the street and the colors of the leaves. The people singing and dancing on the street had filled the world with melodies, surrounding her with an enchanting feeling of pure happiness. They had been a normal family at that point, as normal as families can be. Sybil and Isaac cared for Eleanor and Everard, they bathed them and fed them and helped them with the games they would create out of sticks and mud and rocks. Nothing bad in the world could have touched Eleanor at that point – she had always been happy to help her mother prepare supper and hem her dresses while Everard learned to chop wood. They were a happy family who believed that God was smiling down on them.