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Garrett Hawke sighed quietly to himself as he mindlessly shoveled several watery spoonfuls of something that was supposed to be soup into his mouth. Mother and Gamlen sat on the opposite side of the makeshift table in their dilapidated Lowtown shack, both exuding silent resentment as they ate.
Dinner was cold; Leandra had insisted on waiting for Carver at first, but finally acquiesced after the better part of an hour. Gamlen hadn’t waited voluntarily, but it was two against one in favor of Leandra, and even though Hawke had been starving, he knew better than to cross his mother when she was set on something.
"Is it so much to want what’s left of my family to have a meal together?" she asked, looking pointedly at Garrett, though he prudently remained silent, and quickly swallowed more soup.
He had just shoved a crust of stale bread in his mouth when Carver finally stomped in, though the stomping seemed slightly lighter of foot than was customary for him.
"Nice of you to jo—" Hawke began, but stopped, choking on his bread as he looked up and saw his brother.
Carver brushed by quickly, staring at the floor. A handful of tiny, wild daisies and fluffy white clover had been twined into his dark hair, the white and yellow standing out quite starkly against the black.
"Shut up," Carver mumbled under his breath preemptively, while Garrett scrambled to gulp a few precious sips of cloudy water from his cup.
By the time Garrett could breathe again, Carver had ducked into the back room and slammed the door behind him. Garrett paused, cleared his throat, and gave a low, snorting chuckle before returning to his meal.
"Dare I ask?" Leandra set down her spoon and eyed the door, her brow creasing with interest.
"I don’t want to know," Gamlen muttered, slamming his empty bowl down on the table. "I’m going out for a drink."
"Carver likes daisies,” Garrett said simply, as if that explained everything.