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The rains have poured hard this season, and the slopes around Bethlehem are dotted with hundreds of flowers the color of David’s hair. If he crouches low, Abigail thinks, sneaks in the grass like a cat, she might not see him at all.
But her little brother is hardly guileful. His loud, unexpected laugh has not changed since the day he was born seven springs ago, and he has not yet managed to hide from her without giving himself away with a giggle; she doesn’t think he could hide to save his life.
But run – oh, running he could do.
“David!” she calls, sighing. He has gone off chasing some lamb again, and their mother will be furious if he will fall into a crumbling old well or unmarked cistern on Abigail’s watch, and so she unfolds herself and gets up, calling his name again, hearing it echo like the valley itself is calling for her brother. She wishes sometimes she could take some rope and keep him on a leash, instead of chasing him around all the time.
When she finds him in the end, he is not laughing. His head is bowed, and he is on his knees, and the red on his clothes and on the ground is not coming from flowers. He’s trembling. What remains of the lamb is ugly.
“Come here,” she says.
David looks up. His eyes are wet.
“Come here, David,” she repeats, gently. David comes. “What happened?”
“There was a fox,” he whispers.
Abigail darts her eyes towards the hills, scanning them quickly, but whatever was there is gone now, and the rest of the herd is safe. “Let’s bring them home,” she says.
As they walk, David takes her hand, unsolicited. It’s been a long time since he’s sought any kind of comfort from her.
He’s quieter than usual, kicking rocks and deep in thought, until he says: “Eliab will teach me to use a sword.”
Abigail scoffs. Eliab barely has time to spare for his wife and children and does not seemed to care about anyone shorter than his elbows, and she would be surprised if he remembered their littlest brother even existed. “Where would you even get a sword,” she says. “Anyway, you don’t need swords to fight foxes. Come on.” She breaks off from the trail, leading them towards the river, following the same path her sister had led her down, years ago. “You just need to know how to pick the right rock.”
