Sheryl Nome

It's hard to tell how old she is; she's small and scrawny for her age, so she could be as young as six or as old as ten. A darker-skinned woman is seated on the couch next to her, brushing her damp hair gently; Sheryl, in a fluffy bathrobe, is staring at a tray of small sandwiches on the coffee table.

"It's all right," says the woman, with a gentle laugh, seeing her hunted expression. "You can eat as much as you want, and there'll be more later."

A quick look over, then back down, and she stuffs four sandwiches into her mouth at once. The woman pounds her back as she bursts out coughing, shaking her head. "Not so fast, honey. They aren't going to go anywhere. I promise."