You were walking off your frustrations after the monthly Gathering, hands stuffed in your pockets and biting your cheek. Your head throbbed as you thought about how your ideas had been so mercilessly discarded. You had practically stormed out of the Hut as soon as the meeting was adjourned, deciding to get some fresh air. As you walked to the woods, you saw the new kid crying quietly in the trees. Chuck, only eleven or twelve, his head buried in his hands as he leaned against a tree trunk.