"He was my father."
Lara said, turning one of the few roasting fishes on the roasting bar. She held the tail and turned it the second time. She was seated on a stool at the front of her house. Twasnt a hut. But twasn't much of a house too.
She had assembled three firm stones and put firewoods in the midst. She had cracked the fire on and started the roasting.
Just few more turning, the five fishes would be ready for eating.
"So, he always kinda feed you everyday?"
He said, standing by the door of the house. He didn't like the rage of the smoke.
And there was less of a view at that part of the nation.
She turned and looked briefly at him,
"You can put it that way."
She wasn't doing much work roasting the fishes. All she was doing was just turn and ease. The whooshing winds were generous enough to fan the flames.