The walk back to the hut was a victory march. They carried the baskets of "waste" not with shame, but with the reverence of pirates carrying chests of Spanish gold.
The moment the wooden door latched shut, cutting them off from the prying eyes of the village,
For a heartbeat, there was silence... just the heavy breathing of five people staring at the wicker baskets overflowing with "trash" that was actually treasure.
Then, the dam broke.
The repressed tension of the morning… the fear of humiliation, the adrenaline of the crowd, the sheer audacity of the plan… all erupted into pure, unadulterated joy.
"We did it!" Liora squealed, dropping her basket and launching herself at Sol.
She slammed into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his tunic. "Did you see them? They were fighting for it! They were fighting for soup!"
