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The inhabitants had fashioned earthen walls where there were none, pulling up wood and thatching to replace long-destroyed roofs, and at night they would all share dinner together either out in the open, or together in a long room that resembled a beer-hall.

A far cry from what I remembered of Nela.

For a time, when I still worked the land for the elderly couple, life seemed blissfully serene, it seemed like these hundred-odd survivors were catching up on a decade's lost sleep, and after every sunrise another dark ring was removed from their eyes.

That was, at least, until what happened the month before I was introduced to Harkoff.