Samara darted from behind the cedar tree, sprinted to a small clump of bushes, and dropped down beside Miriam.
Miriam gave her an approving look. “When we get to the top of this hill, we’ll be able to look down on my house,” she whispered.
“Then how far is it to the house?”
“Not far, maybe a few hundred yards.”
Samara looked around her. It was only a hundred feet to the crest of the hill, and the thick trunks of the cedar trees would provide excellent hiding places the entire distance, something they had not always had over the past several hours. Smiling at Miriam, she said brightly, “This should be easy compared to what we’ve been through.”
Although the house was only a few miles from Edrei, it had taken the women two days to get where they were. The walk out of the ravine had taken a savage toll on their feet, hands, and legs. Bushes thick with thorns and burrs clogged the bottom of the ravine in search of the few drops of rainwater that occasionally formed a stream. The women had no choice but to claw their way over or through it, puncturing and scratching their skin with each step. For a time they had attempted to stay higher on the sides, climbing over rocks as large as houses, but abandoned that effort when they were faced with rocks too big to climb.
The small trickle of water that Caleb had told them was in the bottom of the ravine had long since dried up. The first day the fugitives drank water from a puddle with green slime around the edges. Drinking all they could, they soaked up what was left with their scarves and draped them over their heads to ward off the heat from the sun reflecting off the ravine’s stark walls. When the heat and scorching sun became too oppressive, the women sought shade under a small rock overhang, which they shared with spiders and a mound of ants. When the bites from the ants became unbearable, the women abandoned the shade and pushed on until it was too dark to see where they were going.
Two hours after sunrise on the second day, Miriam and Samara worked their way out of the ravine and found themselves on a barren plateau overlooking Edrei. For all their effort, they had only traveled a couple miles. Crouching down so as not to silhouette themselves against the skyline, they crept to the edge of the plateau. Edrei lay in smoldering ruins, deserted, but the road leading from the village was congested with men, women, and children being herded between two columns of soldiers. Leading the group was a man in a chariot.
Miriam’s head sank as she looked down on the pitiful mass of people. Although more than a mile away from the captives, Samara studied the backs of each person in hope of seeing the familiar colors of her mother’s robe or the ambling gate of her father. But they were simply too far away, and her eyes were too teary to see clearly.
The two women knelt on bleeding knees and watched in silence as individual people merged to form an indistinguishable mass which then descended a hill and disappeared from view. The screech of a red-tailed hawk drew Miriam from a world of thoughts, and she reached out and put her arm around Samara’s shoulders. The two women looked at each other and then embraced.
After more long minutes, Miriam said, “I see no reason to go back into that forsaken ravine. No one is here.”
“What if they left soldiers behind to capture any stragglers? As hard as it is, I would feel more secure hiding in the ravine,” Samara said.
Miriam raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. “I didn’t think about that. Perhaps you’re right. Let’s go back. We’ll stay in the ravine through the day, and then as evening comes, we’ll find a place to climb out. By then we’ll be much closer to home.”
The rest of that day was as punishing as the first had been, but with countless cuts and scrapes and with their robes snagged and torn, the ragged pair emerged as the sun began slipping down in the west.
“Wait here, and I’ll go to where I can look down on the house,” Miriam said. “I’ll wave at you if everything is okay, and then you can come up to where I am.”
Samara smiled faintly. “Fine. But it’ll be dark soon, so we must hurry.”
“I’ll be quick,” Miriam said as she began running toward the crest of the hill and the protection of the cedar trees.
In the early-evening sunlight, Samara watched Miriam as she swiftly walked to a tree and looked intently in every direction. Satisfied everything was safe, the older woman hurried to the next and did the same. Over and over, she zigzagged her way from tree to tree or clump of brush until she was at the crest of the hill. She crouched down behind the charred remains of a massive old cedar that looked as if it had been struck by lightning years ago. Samara watched Miriam peer over the hulking black tree trunk and waited for the signal to join her.
After five minutes, Samara wasn’t sure what to do. Miriam had looked to her left and right but hadn’t turned back to look at Samara or wave her hand. After another minute, Samara rose to her feet and followed the same trail Miriam had used until she too could look down the hill. But unlike Miriam, she didn’t crouch down behind the fallen cedar. There was no need.
One hundred yards below her, Samara could see the fine wisps of smoke rising from smoldering ruins of what had been Miriam’s home. Nothing was left. Once-sturdy roof timbers were little more than charred sticks. The block walls had been pushed over or had fallen on their own, and nothing but black and gray ash remained of chairs, beds, and clothing. Beyond the scorched earth of the house lay the black remains of a shed that had been filled with grain and wool—all of it gone, burned in the fire. Only the rocks that formed the walls of the well remained standing, although black smudges streaked the light-colored rock.
Samara lightly placed her hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Miriam looked up, forced a smile, then turned her gaze back to what had once been her home.
“Come, Miriam, it’s getting dark, and we cannot stay here,” Samara said as she reached down, slipped her hands under Miriam’s armpits, and pulled the stunned woman to her feet.
“Is there someplace close by that will provide shelter?” Samara asked. “Or should we find a place under the trees?”
Miriam acted as if she hadn’t heard and said only, “I’m thirsty.”
Samara gave her a tender smile and said, “We’ll go down to the well.” Samara gently guided Miriam around the fallen tree, and as the sun slipped behind the western hills, the two slowly descended the hillside.