Already in the cellar, Llana heard the door slam shut. She crawled by her nails and bloodied fingers, deeper into a dark corner, and curled up in a ball. She knew by the slam of the door, he was drunk and angry again, but the old broken boxes around her would perhaps offer some protection. Muffled shouts, foul words, the sound of pots being broken--each served to fuel her fear. Hyper-vigilant, she knew each distinct sound and how each reflected his fury. Please, just for once, please. Foot...