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Mahlah’s knife was on her hip, not in her hand. Should she attack with her jagged jar? And where should she strike?

The spy shouted. His command came out harsh and battle ready. He sprang, thrusting his weapon upward at her neck.

Pagan!

She raised her pottery piece. His blade chipped the edge, but the force of the blow, cracked her defense. Her clay shield crumbled.

No Canaanite was going to take her life, her inheritance, or her land. Bracing her legs against the soil, she pounced, using her well-marched thigh muscles to focus all her weight upon the spy’s knees.

She rammed his legs with her body.

He buckled and slammed against another spy. They both fell.

Prone on the ground, the Canaanite couldn’t slice her throat. He would have to stab her and that required a change of hold on the knife’s handle.

Mahlah scrambled to her feet. She unsheathed her blade.

“Go! Run Away.” She assumed the stance of a fierce warrior, one similar to the men of Asher who battled in her courtyard. She pointed her knife at her twig-covered foe.

Noah, in a stupor, stumbled to Mahlah’s side. Blood seeped from Noah’s mouth. She reached toward the ground.

“Leave us be.” Mahlah slashed her knife at the two Canaanites that remained upright.

God, I’m claiming Your promise of protection. Now.

The familiar thud of leather hitting grass emboldened her skittish heart.

Fools. They hadn’t taken Noah’s whip.

A shout in Hebrew came from the darkness behind the spies. Another warning. Then another.

Two spies darted in the direction of the river.

Mahlah shoulders sagged. She tried to sheath her knife, but the simple motion sent a jarring pain across her body.

Men swaggered through the brush into the small clearing. Fighting men with ridged arms and swords slung on their belts. She recognized their worn leather and strong-jawed faces. Her tribesmen had returned. Praise God.

A commander rushed to the bodies of the fallen Canaanites.

“Spies.” Noah indicated the direction the assailants had fled. “They ran toward the river.”

A man stalked Mahlah’s direction.

She knew those eyes, so fierce, yet caring. A father’s eyes. Jonah would be jumping all around his tent.

Reuben grew closer. His beard had filled out. His hair curled at the ends.

She meant to call to him, to her Reuben. But her chest ached, and the ache grew, consuming her thoughts. Her breaths didn’t bring enough air. She gasped.

Noah coiled her whip.

“Sister, why are you so still?”

Mahlah couldn’t answer. Her response sputtered in her throat.

Slumping to the ground, she held her ribs and prayed for the pain to stop.

Why shouldn’t the consuming ache go away? God had answered her prayer earlier. He had sent her a legion of angels. No, he had sent her the fighting men of Israel.