The cart creaked as it pulled up to the farm, the third this week. The Eastern Famine has not been kind to anyone, it seems. Everyone piled out, Rughoi, and his mother, and many families he'd never met. The sun beat down on the group mercilessly, seeming to grow even hotter as they began to work. Rughoi himself simmered away under it. He let his own anger at his past grudges surface while he worked. He liked anger. It kept him distracted.