forth to herd the lambs off.
âCome away from here,â she warned. âYou might get bit.â
The woman now crouched by some bits of broken stone, waving invisible flies from her face, cursing at them with words Eden didnât understand. She reminded Eden of Judas when he talked to himself. Yet Eden knew that this one, this woman, never talked to anyone but herself.
The rain had stopped once more and the travelers gathered their slim goods together in preparation for another march. With a deep sigh, Samson turned to go. Perhaps this town was better than the empty road. Eden nudged the lambs and they followed in the donkeyâs hoof steps. Then the companions, last of all, abandoned the town without a second thought, trudging out from the brick arcade and leaving the woman to her voices. Edenâs sharp ears heard the poor creature scuttle off, withdrawing to the dark safety of her stony wall, still muttering to herself.
But they had not seen the last of her.
They walked till sunset, and in the growing dusk Eden heard the sound of soft footsteps along the side of the road. Ah, the fox had returned, the wary fox following them as quietly as possible. Eden had sensed him dogging their trail on and off since the start of their great journey. With each sign and marvel, with each wonder she sensed him near enough to see or catch a scent yet reluctant to show himself.
She considered asking him to join them again. But after a moment thought no ; his stealthy footsteps showed that however curious he might be, the fox wanted to keep things as they were. To see and not be seen, and no animal would fault another for that.
The travelers stopped among a cluster of damp boulders.
So, they would sleep outside tonight. Or, not so much sleep as dozing in fits and starts. No dry wood for a fire; a long, cold camp, nodding in the clammy dark.
More worrisome still, as nightfallâs last gray curtain fell Eden saw Judas sneak off alone. The unhappy man stood for some moments in the black shadow of a stunted tree. At first it appeared Judas was speaking into the air as heâd often done before. But then Eden smelled the fox again lying low in a scrap of brush. The foxâs ears stood up, quivering as he listened. Yes, listened patiently ⦠creeping closer and closer until he crouched only a step away from the manâs feet. Much too close for comfort. But stranger still, Judas knew the fox was close, close enough to overhear him. For suddenly Judas spoke to the fox just as he had learned to do with all the other animals, seeing into their minds and listening to their thoughts.
âIâm afraid,â the man told him. And the fox cocked his ears. âI have doubts,â Judas said.
The fox sniffed his paw, then licked some sand from between his pads.
âThis canât be right, can it? Am I really this alone? Does no one else doubt?â
But the fox made no reply. And then the man knew the fox would not answer him. Sadly, Judas crept back to the group before anyone was aware of his absence.
He sought out Eden in the cluster of rocks.
And when he snuggled against her fur she felt that his hands were cold.
Eden awoke to the sound of heavy breathing in the cluster of rocks.
Another visitor had joined them in the night.
Her eyes hadnât snapped open to footsteps in the dark, but to the sound of the newcomer muttering indistinct words. Eden recognized the voice: the madwoman huddled in the stone arcade. She was close, only a few paces off, mumbling under her breath. Yet near enough for Eden to hear her muffled words. Many voices argued in her head.
You know him .
I know him too .
No, you donât .
Yes, yes, I do .
The crazy woman must have kept out of sight along the way, approaching ever closer in the dark. Eden sensed nothing evil in this creature, only like Judas, the woman was wracked by confusion and sadness and fear. And Judas seemed to recognize her as well, muttering,
âCome away from here,â she warned. âYou might get bit.â
The woman now crouched by some bits of broken stone, waving invisible flies from her face, cursing at them with words Eden didnât understand. She reminded Eden of Judas when he talked to himself. Yet Eden knew that this one, this woman, never talked to anyone but herself.
The rain had stopped once more and the travelers gathered their slim goods together in preparation for another march. With a deep sigh, Samson turned to go. Perhaps this town was better than the empty road. Eden nudged the lambs and they followed in the donkeyâs hoof steps. Then the companions, last of all, abandoned the town without a second thought, trudging out from the brick arcade and leaving the woman to her voices. Edenâs sharp ears heard the poor creature scuttle off, withdrawing to the dark safety of her stony wall, still muttering to herself.
But they had not seen the last of her.
They walked till sunset, and in the growing dusk Eden heard the sound of soft footsteps along the side of the road. Ah, the fox had returned, the wary fox following them as quietly as possible. Eden had sensed him dogging their trail on and off since the start of their great journey. With each sign and marvel, with each wonder she sensed him near enough to see or catch a scent yet reluctant to show himself.
She considered asking him to join them again. But after a moment thought no ; his stealthy footsteps showed that however curious he might be, the fox wanted to keep things as they were. To see and not be seen, and no animal would fault another for that.
The travelers stopped among a cluster of damp boulders.
So, they would sleep outside tonight. Or, not so much sleep as dozing in fits and starts. No dry wood for a fire; a long, cold camp, nodding in the clammy dark.
More worrisome still, as nightfallâs last gray curtain fell Eden saw Judas sneak off alone. The unhappy man stood for some moments in the black shadow of a stunted tree. At first it appeared Judas was speaking into the air as heâd often done before. But then Eden smelled the fox again lying low in a scrap of brush. The foxâs ears stood up, quivering as he listened. Yes, listened patiently ⦠creeping closer and closer until he crouched only a step away from the manâs feet. Much too close for comfort. But stranger still, Judas knew the fox was close, close enough to overhear him. For suddenly Judas spoke to the fox just as he had learned to do with all the other animals, seeing into their minds and listening to their thoughts.
âIâm afraid,â the man told him. And the fox cocked his ears. âI have doubts,â Judas said.
The fox sniffed his paw, then licked some sand from between his pads.
âThis canât be right, can it? Am I really this alone? Does no one else doubt?â
But the fox made no reply. And then the man knew the fox would not answer him. Sadly, Judas crept back to the group before anyone was aware of his absence.
He sought out Eden in the cluster of rocks.
And when he snuggled against her fur she felt that his hands were cold.
Eden awoke to the sound of heavy breathing in the cluster of rocks.
Another visitor had joined them in the night.
Her eyes hadnât snapped open to footsteps in the dark, but to the sound of the newcomer muttering indistinct words. Eden recognized the voice: the madwoman huddled in the stone arcade. She was close, only a few paces off, mumbling under her breath. Yet near enough for Eden to hear her muffled words. Many voices argued in her head.
You know him .
I know him too .
No, you donât .
Yes, yes, I do .
The crazy woman must have kept out of sight along the way, approaching ever closer in the dark. Eden sensed nothing evil in this creature, only like Judas, the woman was wracked by confusion and sadness and fear. And Judas seemed to recognize her as well, muttering,
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