Hans was also in the line, his back hunched into a bow, eyes vacant, perfectly mimicking those around him.
When the ladle of sweetly scented thick soup was poured into his battered bowl, he clenched his fingers abruptly, like an animal guarding its food.
The priest gave him a glance and, satisfied, looked away.
But Hans didn't drink it. He carefully returned to the dead-end alley behind the mill and poured the golden soup into an abandoned rat hole.
A rat emerged from the hole and took a lick.
At first, it shook frantically, its eyes shining as if drunk, spinning in place before it froze, limbs straightened, unmoving.
Hans stared at the puddle of golden muck, cold sweat trickling down his spine.
......
Deep into the night, in the mill's basement.
The massive stone millstone turned slowly overhead, emitting a low, rhythmic rumble, like a slumbering beast.
The search team pried open the floor, overturned barrels, but found nothing, and after a few times, they stopped coming.
