Mus'ad woke up to the pre-dawn chill and the smell of frying fat. He could hear clatter and the children’s busy footsteps in the kitchen below. He tiptoed downstairs to see Batul, the oldest, narrowly avoid disaster, moving a panful of almost-burnt boiling curry across the stove, deftly slopping it into three hand-painted bowls. Her little sister, Hind, was jittering behind her in a plain white shift and a pair of frayed oven mitts, eyes intently on the oven. “Wait, wait! I’m not done!” Batul hissed frantically. Hind hopped on her toes impatiently. “Mmmm!” She tried to dodge under Batul, was blocked by a kick. “They’ll burrrn!” Batul hopped on one leg, vigorously fending off her sister with the other, dropped the curry pot on the stove, picked up the lentils and dished them skillfully among the bowls. “They’ll be fine! I only put them in a few minutes ago!”
Mus’ad leaned against the doorsill and watched the ensuing carnage fondly. Despite the kicking and punching and clatter of pans, both children were speaking in agitated whispers, presumably to keep from waking... well, him. He slid noiselessly over to the table and sat down at the head. A thread of smoke curled from the oven. Hind left off pummeling her sister with a shriek of alarm, pulled open the oven door and retrieved a badly scorched dish, covered with an equally badly scorched plate. Mus’ad winced. Those had been a gift from Anbar’s family. He hoped the damage wasn’t permanent. The two girls fought over the potholders, teased open the dish to reveal a steaming heap of undamaged fry bread, sighed in relief.
“Okay,” Batul whispered, commandeering dish and potholders together out of Hind’s reach, “Almost ready! You go wake Daddy; I’ll set the table.”
“Don’t have to. He’s right over there.” Hind spoke at full volume, confirming Mus’ad’s guess. Batul started and very nearly dropped the flatbread, tried to hide the scorched dish, thought better of it. “Ai! Daaadddy! How long have you been there?”
“Since the naan came out of the oven.” Mus’ad lied. The girls hesitated, fawns in a jeep’s headlights. “Well?” Mus’ad gestured towards the table with mock impatience, then broke into a grin. The girls smiled back and pattered over, food in hand. He broke a piece of naan and dipped it into his bowl. The girls set their bowls across from him, Batul taking the time to pour a little milk over Hind’s curry. (More like her mother every day, Mus’ad thought fondly.)
“Where’s your mother?” Mus’ad asked around a mouthful. The lentils were crunchy.
“Already gone. She said not to wake you. Is breakfast good?” Batul asked.
“It is made with love, which is the best spice, and is therefore very good.” Mus’ad said firmly. He chewed his lentils. Crunch, crunch. “Though, you might consult with your mother on the lentils. They seem a little undercooked.” Batul nodded absently, eyes bright with the next bit of information. “Oh- that reminds me! Mother said maybe I could come to the Council Hall today - I thought, maybe, since they’re going to be in session all day, I could bring her some food - she just took an orange for breakfast - “

Mus’ad covered his expression of alarm with his napkin, coughed to give himself time. “You most certainly will not. It’s not -“ He stumbled over his panicked thoughts (It’s not safe there - not safe for my daughters. God -) “-it’s no place for a girl your age. Besides, you both have school today.” Batul took a breath. “No! Not another word about it! I forbid you to go to… to that part of town. You’ll go straight to school and you’ll come straight home. Both of you… Hind!”