The market was loud and smelled of roasted nuts and spices. Seven-year-old Steve walked carefully, cradling a freshly baked loaf of bread.
He had been looking forward to it all morning. It was warm against his chest.
"Can I hold it?" Kynthos asked, reaching up.
"No," Steve said quickly. "You might drop it in the dirt."
As they neared the edge of the square, they saw a man sitting in the dust by the road.
His clothes were worn thin, and his sandals were tied together with old string. He looked exhausted, watching the people pass by.
Grandfather stopped.
"He has traveled far," Grandfather said quietly. "And he has not eaten."
Steve tightened his grip on his bread.
"It's mine," he thought. "We bought it for our lunch."
He looked down at the crust. His stomach gave a small rumble.
Grandfather placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It is your bread," Grandfather agreed softly. "But ask yourself... who needs it more right now?"
Steve looked at the traveler. The man wasn't asking for anything. He was just tired.
Steve took a deep breath. The smell of the warm bread filled his nose.
Then, with both hands, he pulled. The crust snapped, and he broke the loaf perfectly in half.
He walked over to the stranger and held out the half loaf.
"Here," Steve said softly.
The traveler looked up in surprise. He took the bread with shaking hands.
"Thank you, little one."
Grandfather and Kynthos walked up behind him.
"Come," Grandfather smiled. "Let us share the rest."
