Humble

"this fear is no longer dear. You are not going to America" e.e. cummings

With that settled, her big brown eyes the color of English breakfast with a splash of cream, blinked a few times and she turned away from the gate. 

She wanted to run back home, but she kept her gait even, tucking her thick black hair behind her elongated earlobe.  She wanted to scream out her joy and relief at being able to remain in this place; she didn't.  Thalia felt bad for the ones that still had to make that arduous journey.  She knew many would be resentful.  So she wrapped her magenta cape over her shoulders and headed back to the village.  There would be questions and the 3 mile walk gave her time to come up with answers to explain her good fortune.  

The sun was going down as she entered the main square.  Vendors were packing their goods for the day.  Thalia caught the baker before he left, knowing that she could get a baguette or two for her breakfast in the morning.  When Jacques saw her his eyes widened but he didn't ask her the question. She gave him a small bow with her head, eyelids slightly down. He'd told her to pay only half what he normally charged but she paid him the full price.  She'd already been so fortunate today. 

In her hut she built a small fire.  Pulled out a ration of venison, scooped duck renderings into a pan placed sliced baguette in the pan once it was hot.  She was treating herself tonight, a small celebration.  Maybe she'd even have a little sherry.  In her mirth, Thalia was mindful. Knowing she'd be among the early risers going through the huts of those who'd been made to go.