Author's Note: This story is set between Amy's Choice and The Hungry Earth in series five. I learned about the Famine in school about four years ago, so the political opinions expressed in this are not my own, but as accurate as I can be to the times. Hope you enjoy.

William O'Boyle rose with the sun. The golden rays that shone through the crack in the battered wooden door were hitting his wife, who lay beside him, and making her look radiant. Her curly brown hair reflected the light, giving it a golden tinge. She was beautiful, her pale face peaceful in rest, free from the worries of the waking hours.

His eyes traced her figure down to the growing lump on her belly. Another being was inside, safe and warm. They were free from worries too, totally dependent on their mother, completely trusting her to keep them alive. He never referred to the baby as a he or she – just them. He couldn't face the thought of being responsible for beginning a life that would be doomed from the start.

William's eyes moved further away, to his five-year-old son lying cuddled up to his mother, also fast asleep. His chest rose and fell in a regular pattern, the breaths from his nose making a stray lock of his mother's hair blow back and fourth. In the morning light, he could see a small smile on the boy's face as he slept. He shifted, moaning as the light from the rising sun made him open his eyes. Squinting, he looked up at his father who was now on his feet.

"Morning, father," he said, smiling.

"Morning, Patrick," William replied, returning the boy's smile. Patrick carefully extracted himself from his mother's protective grasp without waking her while William grabbed his coat and went to the door, reaching for the loop of rope that served for a handle.

"Where are you going?" asked Patrick, now standing as well. He tip-toed over to where his father stood, the keenness for adventure evident in his bright blue eyes.

"Looking for breakfast. Would you like to come?" Patrick's face lit up and William knew his answer before he said it. In fact he was so sure, he answered three times.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down on the spot.

Patrick said the last word loud enough to rouse his mother from her slumber (she was sleeping for two, after all). She moaned and her eyes fluttered open. Placing an arm between her eyes and the sunlight, she saw her husband and son standing beside the door. "Going for breakfast, are we?" she asked sleepily, taking her time to sit up from her blanket on the floor.

"Yes, Mary," William replied. He didn't want to tell her how much food he had left. "I might be a while, though..." He caught Patrick's disappointed look and amended, "...We might be a while. There might be something a little different to eat in the woods."

Now Mary sat up, causing a pain to shoot through her back. She lay down again, masking a grimace. "What's wrong with the potatoes?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I... just feel like we could do with a change of flavours, that's all." William knew it was a lie, but sometimes not knowing the truth is better that knowing it and this was certainly one of those times.

Mary scoffed. "A change of flavours. Ha! If you want to go for a walk all you have to do is say."

William sighed. "It's not like that. If you're okay with it, I'm – we're going now. You just rest some more."

Mary nodded and shut her eyes. William took Patrick's outstretched hand and together they stepped out into the wind-chilled valley. The road that ran in front of their house and everything else was covered in a fresh covering of snow. Patrick gaped at the beauty of it. The sun's golden glow made the snowflakes sparkle for as far as the eye could see in one direction, while the forest was a harsh contrast of black and white in the other direction. Clinging close for warmth, William and Patrick made their way to the edge of the forest.

A dead rabbit lay in the middle of the footpath that the landlord had created for his hunting trips. William couldn't believe his luck. Picking it up by the hind legs, William and Patrick walked back to the road.

A horse and trap was approaching from the east. Hiding the dead rabbit in his coat, William ushered his protesting son into the house and shut the door behind them. As much as Patrick loved to see the horses, they were a sign of wealth. Hunting game was strictly banned in the forest, and William certainly didn't want to be caught carrying game by some member of the upper classes. He'd heard many stories of brave men being evicted from their homes after being caught with a dead rabbit or pheasant. Some men even went hunting in the forest and never returned, disappearing without a trace. Of course, some men went hunting on purpose, expertly covering their tracks and avoiding arrest or eviction. William wasn't a very careful man, clumsy by nature, and nothing (apart from food) was more important to him that a roof over his family's heads. It was for this reason that he didn't hunt in the forest.

But today his luck was in. A dead rabbit could feed the family well for a day at least. Much more filling than the two potatoes a day plan that was currently in place. Patrick pressed his ear to the door at the sound of the horse passing and he pouted. "Why couldn't I see the horsey?" he asked.

"Oh, son. Horses are very nice, but you have to be very careful around them. They can kick you," William lied. He didn't want to burden his son with the real reason.

"Oh."

Giving his son a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, William lit the fire he had set the night before. The single room that was the family home soon warmed and Mary awoke again to the sight of William and Patrick warming their hands around the flickering flames. A rabbit sat by the doorway, skinned and ready to be cooked. Getting up a lot more slowly this time, Mary stooped with a little grunt and picked up the rabbit.

"Where did you get this?" she asked her husband.

"I found it in the woods. Told you we'd have something different." He smiled at her and she couldn't help smiling back. Reaching for her only pot in the corner, she filled it with water from the barrel that sat under a hole in the roof and placed the rabbit over the fire on a frame to boil.

The smoke from the cooking rabbit escaped through the purpose-made vent in the thatched roof. The family waited in excitement for the meal to be ready. All three hadn't eaten anything but potatoes for the past two-and-a-half months. A bit of meat would be a nice change, and also beneficial as winter was still only about halfway through.

On two plates made of wood, Mary placed the now cooked rabbit. Using a knife, she carefully cut the meat from the bones, gathering as much meat as she could from the tiny body. Satisfied, she placed the bones to one side. Gathering around the plates, the family ate slowly with their hands, savouring every mouthful. Patrick's face was one of pure delight, and hearing his murmurs of, "Mmmm," made both of his parents beam with happiness. Today they had fed their son something substantial. He was happy, and by default, so were they.

Thanking God for their good fortune and his satisfied stomach, William excused himself from his family and went outside again. Snow crunching under his feet, he made his way to his field. Normally at this time of year he would still have a huge pile of potatoes stashed to sustain them all through the harsh Irish winters. But as things were, there was no secret stash. No more potatoes. The pile he had started the winter with was already down to one potato. He had to find it, prove to himself that it was still there. Digging through the layer of snow, then straw and then soil, William found it. He had seen it the day before, taunting him. Telling him what a rubbish father and husband he was. He couldn't keep his secret from his family for long, and then it was only a matter of time before they would all starve to death. Tomorrow was going to be a very bad day.

Tomorrow the O'Boyle family would eat their last potato.

William spent the afternoon in the woods. He wasn't looking for food in particular, but if he saw anything edible he knew he would pick it up. If money grew on trees it would be good too. What he was actually looking for was a good piece of wood, not for the fire but for his son. William didn't know the actual date as he had stopped bothering to count long ago. And he could only count up to twenty at best. There were no months for the O'Boyle family either, just seasons. Spring, summer, autumn and winter. There was no point counting the days until your inevitable death from starvation. He did, however, know the year. After being stopped for rent by the landlord's agent, the man had told him that in the year 1852, men should be able to pay their rent and know what's best for them. On that occasion, William had managed to get a small job and pay the month's rent – whatever month it was.

William also knew of a tradition amongst the upper classes. They celebrated a festival known as Christmas, when children received presents and families would sit down for huge meals at a table. William couldn't give his family a huge meal on a table, but he could at least give his son a present. Spying the right kind of branch just above his head, William grabbed hold with both hands and sagged. The weight of his body made the branch snap off and William landed in a pile of bark and snow. Standing up, he smiled. Pulling the family knife from his coat pocket, he sat down on a nearby boulder and began to whittle.

He knew exactly what he was going to make for his son; he spent the next four hours carefully carving the wood into the right shape.

The short days of winter meant that the sun was beginning to set as William made the trek back to the house. Leaving the woods, he saw the smoke from the fire rising through the vent in the roof. Seeing the signs of sanctuary and warmth ahead, and realising how cold he actually was, William quickened his step.

In his haste, he didn't notice the royal blue box sitting a little to the west on the edge of the woods.

"Father!" shouted Patrick as his father came through the door, barely getting a chance to close the door behind him as Patrick flung his arms around him.

William smiled. "Hello, son. Hug me and you'll get a chill." The boy untangled himself from his father and looked up to him. "I have something for you..." William said as he produced the wooden gift from behind his back.

Patrick smiled in awe as he took the toy. He inspected every detail with a critical eye. "It's perfect, father, thank you." He grinned.

Patrick spent the final hour or so until nightfall on the dirt floor, playing with his new toy horse.