In the far corner of the room lit only by a wary slit of a sunbeam scared to peek through the shutter sat a table with a burnished crucible on it.
Slowly she crawled from her hiding spot under the bed and paused to listen …
Crouched in the shadows she was too silent.. ears open.. waiting..
No shuffle along the porch floorboards..
No crunching of dried leaves ..
Careful to make no noise she stood and peered out the slit in the shutter.
The yard was bare and quiet.
She was so thirsty, but did she dare?
Could it be poison?