Chapter 30 · Chapter 30

The silence that settled over the stony approach after the dust cleared was thick with the midday heat. Inside our courtyard, the dried stalks of mountain thyme crackled under the dry breeze, and from the shaded pen beside the wall came only the occasional soft stamp of a resting ewe. Ibrahim was asleep in the innermost alcove, shielded behind the thick wool curtain that kept the baking sun from reaching the cooler rock walls.

Shimon did not go to the fleece piles. Instead, he drew the wooden bolt across the courtyard gate with a measured slide of cedar against stone, then turned toward the low door of our dwelling. His face held that distant, hardened quiet that always came upon him when the past pressed too closely against our present shelter.

"The path will remain empty for a little while, Arwa," he said quietly, his voice low beneath the stone lintel. "Stay by the door. If anyone turns their mount up the dry wash, let the curtain fall."

"No one approaches from the lower wells," I answered, resting my hand against the rough timber frame where the shade met the blinding light.