He scrambles to his feet, runs to the trees and returns with the parcel, shoulders back and a look of pride. There’s bread, the best kind, with a clean top, not the black-crusted sort from the bottom. This is a smooth, golden colour that I’ve never seen before. There’s also butter, a luxury I’ve not had since we moved from the village, though the remembered taste immediately floods my mouth. Cheese, cold meat and radishes. I settle myself against a rock, facing the fire.

It’s all I can do to resist grabbing a piece of everything and stuffing it into my mouth. I wipe my lips.

‘Did you bring all this from home?’

‘Yes.’

‘They won’t mind?’

He smiles. ‘They won’t know.’

I cannot imagine. To have so much that whole chunks of bread and cheese and meat can be taken unnoticed.

‘Here,’ he says, ripping the bread, dipping it into the butter and handing me some.

I hold it for a moment before tasting, trying to delay, trying not to show my hunger, my ignorance of such foods. Watch as he bites, copying his slow, casual chewing.

The taste of it, the feel in my mouth. Crunch of crust, softness of bread with the deep, earthy taste of rye and salt tang of butter. He offers me slices of meat, pieces of hard cheese, sharp radishes. I taste each one, letting the flavour spread over my tongue, brush crumbs from my lips.

‘Good,’ I say, covering my mouth with my hand to hide the chewing.

‘I’ve saved the best till last.’

What could surpass this? I’m not convinced. He walks back over to the tree and returns with a smaller parcel, half-unwrapped, and sits next to me. It’s some kind of pie he holds out. I recognise the pastry but not the creamy filling. There are two slices and he hands me one, saying, ‘Flawn.’

I’m none the wiser.

I sniff the pie, catch him looking at me with an expression of gentle amusement, and bite in to hide my discomfort.

The flavour is like nothing I’ve ever tasted, sweet with a faint sense of rose, so that I close my eyes and wait for it to fade. I imagine what it must be to have a life of such ease; of a warm bed and spare clothes and a full belly. Of tastes such as this. Had I not been chosen for a different life.

‘You like it?’ Daniel asks.

I grunt my approval, mouth too full of another bite to speak.

‘I brought something for you,’ he says. ‘If – you were cold before, so …’

He walks to the trees and comes back, holding a square grey cloth out to me. I sit with it in my arms, unsure what to do.

‘Why do you give me this?’ I ask.