As he chewed up the fruits, Jesus’s mind returned to what Simon had said. Over the years he had grown accustomed to the shepherds’ outlandish tales and nomadic superstitions. But he found something about Simon’s story, and the discovery of the broken jar, unsettling.

It was the sound of the wind, dry and tinny like the inside of an empty kettle, that startled Jesus. Seven days had passed and Solomon had still not returned. During that time, Jesus had managed to find water for the animals, but many of the springs he had located had long ago stopped bubbling. And, as their food supply dwindled, so did the men’s morale. Being shepherds, they were not strangers to hardship, but their souls had grown scarred from many difficult hours. And though the men did not complain openly, Jesus and Akbar had had to step in between two small skirmishes, spurred on, no doubt, by the stresses of thirst, hunger, and heat.

Jesus pushed back the tent flap and scanned their camp. None of the others had risen. He stepped outside, folding his hands inside his tunic. The night’s chill still crinkled the air. Three buzzards circled in patient, languid curves overhead. Two of them had been following the group for several days. The third bird, Jesus noted with concern, was new. Slipping on his sandals, he wandered to the sheepfold they had built out of tangled branches. Anna saw him approaching and tottered to the edge of the enclosure. She bleated softly and pressed her nose into the thorny wall.

“Good morning, little one,” Jesus said, petting the downy fur around her muzzle. She licked his hands free of salt and rolled her brown eyes. The shepherd felt grateful for the animal’s show of loyalty and confidence. Still, he prayed that the day would bring Solomon’s return.

The shape on the horizon appeared suddenly as if poured from the shimmering heat. Attuned to the landscape, Jesus noticed it even before his sheep did. The form appeared to be moving slowly, almost as if it were not moving at all. He knew from the apparent lack of motion that it was heading straight toward them. He shielded his eyes against the sunrise and tried to ascertain the shape’s identity.

Was it a wolf? A bandit? Perhaps a lion?

He knew he should wake the others but decided to wait. He wanted to be sure before sounding the alarm.

As the wavy shape moved closer, its edges hardened. The figure moved with a long step that favored the left leg. He recognized the gait.

Solomon!