Chapter 23 · Chapter 23

By the time dawn broke over the dry crests of the valley, the chill of the desert night had stiffened the grey mud along the wadi floor. The southern spring, our only reliable source before the midday sun turned the gravel to burning coals, was choked under the gravel and silt washed down by the last mountain flash flood. Our ewes paced restlessly along the dry stone trough, their lowing sharp and hollow against the cliffs.

I drew my linen mantle over my hair, tucking the edges against the dust that rose with the morning breeze. Shimon walked a few paces behind me as we approached the hollow, carrying the heavy bronze-tipped pick and the broad wooden shovels, but he did not step in front of me.

Among my people, the water of the hearth was the domain of the woman who held the household together; to strip her of that oversight before the herders was to declare her tent weak.

"The mouth is buried beneath the limestone slide," I told the two young herdsmen who stood waiting beside the dry basin, their arms crossed against the morning wind. "Clear the heavy boulders first from the lower run.