He was a man in his early twenties, so emaciated his bones showed. His face was deathly pale, and though there was nothing visibly wrong with his legs, he was so weak he had to use a wheelchair.
The man wheeled himself over to the young Arabella and stopped. This prompted her to look up at him curiously and take the initiative to greet him. "Hello, Mister."
"Hello, little one. What are you doing sitting here?"
"I don't know. I've been here for a very long time—so long that I've forgotten why I'm here."
"Is that so? I just arrived myself, so I'm not very familiar with this place. Could you tell me a little about it?"
"Of course!"
Over the next while, the two of them chatted about many things. They talked about small things, like her favorite color of flower and the kinds of ribbons she liked to tie her hair with, and big things, like which of the older kids nearby had the worst temper, or which man would get so angry he'd kick someone into the river.
