Beth hasn't slept in for the last two years, and now that she has the ability to, it's hard to keep herself from doing it every morning. But there's really nothing that compares to having a real bed of her own, with clean sheets and blankets instead of sleeping on a dirt floor next to a dying fire, day in and day out. But she drags herself out of bed every morning when the sun rises out of sheer habit - when you're unused to having electricity, every moment of daylight is precious.

She throws on a sundress and some cowboy boots and heads down to the kitchens, stifling a yawn. Supremely unprepared for an intolerably grumpy man first thing in the morning.

It's too early for this.

"Sun just came up," she points out, slightly irritated. "And I think some folk deserve a break after what they've just been through."

Not her, though. She died the very first week.