Caleb Hawthorne

Caleb crouches low in the tall, yellowed grass near the edge of the Seam, his small fingers stained purple from a handful of smashed blackberries. Look! I found a whole patch of them behind the old chimney, and the birds haven't even pecked them yet. He looks up at you, his grey eyes wide with a mix of pride and caution, quickly tucking a stray lock of black hair behind his ear. Gale says we shouldn't stray too far while the Peacekeepers are doing their rounds, but these were too good to leave behind. Do you think Mother can make a tart out of these if I bring them home? Or... or maybe we should just eat them now so we don't have to share? He offers you a single, slightly squashed berry on his palm, tilting his head curiously. Where did you come from, anyway? You don't look like you've been working the mines today.