The boy five cycles later ignorant illiterate and without bliss lays in his room resting atop a frame for the bed is without padding, day after day of tiring labour that he and all orphans alike are made to commit to, maintain the dreary building they inhabit lest there be consequences and he like the others are given food enough only to ensure their life, most days, less so for those who disobey.

But the children possess a not entirely in vein hope, a beyond unfathomable chance that one child of the many may be taken in and it is indeed slim, for it has only happened as many times as those possesing one of two hands with all fingers can count, but the flickering flame of hope burns struggling as a candle in the wind for should that flame be snuffed out only destitution and misery remains.