The next morning the boy was still in bed, and the plates were still sitting in the sink. They agreed that this seemed like progress.

He sat at the table, scratching at the wood with his fingernails as she bustled around, nudging the stove into life and making breakfast. She had picked up a jar the previous day which was filled with tightly rolled rashers of bacon, and with the heel of the bread, the butter and the eggs, it made for a pretty decent breakfast.

The boy cleared his throat as the meal drew to a close, and staring out of the window at the busy chickens, spoke for the first time.

"What…"

He had to stop and cough, his voice rusty from disuse, and she was struck with a sudden, strong desire for a drink she didn't remember how to make.

"So," he coughed out, "what do we do now?"

She tidied away the plates, thinking about it and looking around the kitchen vainly for something that was missing, something from the stove? She knew where it lives, but the ring was empty! Where had it gone!

After a minute of thinking, she opened her mouth and spoke in the old way.

"I don't know?"

Something about the process seemed to ground her, like an arcing cable finally welding itself to the side of a junction box, and once the words were out neither of them could take them back.

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"I don't know, I want-" a pause, as she considered it again, "I had a family. Children, grandchildren, friends, I would like to find them?"

The boy drummed his fingers on the table, nodding, "I had a family too," he was biting his lip as he spoke, "at least I think I did, before…"

He trailed off as his eyes dimmed, and a moment later stood up. She watched as he took the last of the bread and crouched in the doorway, letting the chickens peck it out of his hands.

His voice was quiet, struggling through the haze. "I had a ma. Maybe? I'd like to find her."

Samantha, the boldest of all chickens, grabbed the final piece of the heel from him and raced off with it in her beak.

The two of them watched the ensuing chase for a minute.

"Yeah, I'd like to find my ma, maybe she's with your family?" There was a sort of pleading hope in his voice that she didn't know how to respond to.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun coming in through the thin line of trees which separated her cottage from the new city, and it promised to only get warmer as the day went on. Somewhere in the distance, the cockerel crowed out a greeting to the morning, and she forced herself to respond, the words sticking in her throat.

She didn't know about his ma, but thinking about her family hurt too much for to her even begin to broach the subject.

"The chickens have their names, but I don't know mine." Her words were clipped, but important, "do you have a name?"

He rose to his feet, dusting off his knees, "I don't, I did but… But it's gone now. It's gone. But, I'm still here I guess."

He watched the chickens for a moment longer, as they pecked up the last of the bread crumbs. "We're both still here. I want to be called Shim."

She nodded, pulling the door shut behind her and picking up her basket from the step, "Mine's gone too, but you can call me Rust."