“My mother worried that if I did not learn a trade, I would turn to thievery. So my father sent me away with the shepherds,” he said. He then thought about continuing. About telling the real reason he had been sent from home. But even contemplating the confession made his body tense. And his lungs stiffen.

Anna studied him as he spoke. Saw the invisible weight loaded on his lean shoulders. He, too, had been cast out. It was their bond.

“Your father was wrong,” she told him. “You are a good teacher.”

Solomon whistled from up ahead. The flock was scattering.

“We must go,” Peter said, though he did not want to leave. He wanted, instead, to stay and soak in the feeling of his friend’s approval.

When Anna leapt up, her tunic caught on a rock and tore to her waist. She fell over the split, grappling to keep the ends of the garment together.

Peter knelt for a closer look. “I can repair this,” he said, running the torn fabric through his hands.

Anna was panic-stricken.

Had he seen?

She pulled away. “No,” she said. “I can do it.” She tried to slow her breath.

Peter shrugged. “You should get a new tunic in Dara. Yours is old and frayed. It hardly protects you. You need one like mine,” he said, lifting the thick linen from his shoulders.

Solomon sounded a second whistle.

Without another word, Peter dashed off. When he was gone, Anna stepped behind the rocks to urinate. Her heart was pounding from fear of discovery. While she squatted, she unlaced a cord from her sandal and bound the split in her tunic. When satisfied it would hold, she lifted her staff and ran to join the others.

By the time the sun had climbed overhead, Anna and Peter had established a rhythm between them. In their minds, there existed an invisible divide. Peter was responsible for herding the right side, and Anna, the left. The work was so lightened by their cooperation that Peter found time to frolic. When Anna was not looking, he snuck up behind her and flicked the back of her legs with his olive switch. A chase ensued. She cornered him against a stand of boulders. Laughing, they raced back to the flock. It was a thrill for Anna to find friendship with a boy rather than hostility.

Perhaps all was not lost?

“Look,” Peter said, turning toward the eastern horizon. Anna followed his gaze and gasped at the sight. Before them rose the bright silhouette of Dara. Its army of reddish spires jutted proudly into the sky. “Come on!” Peter urged, and they ran toward the city.