Roz wondered if she’d ever see her dad or her brother again. She bit her pointing finger and some tears escaped, but she made no sound.

At some point Roz slept and knew nothing more until the darkest hour of the new day. A sound like a person sniffling with a bad cold startled her awake. A novel she’d read said that if awakened in a potentially dangerous situation the best thing is to pretend sleep. This gives you time to plan your best moves and surprise your enemy.

Without moving, she opened her eyes a little. The fire had burned so low that only embers remained. But the moon’s light let her see very well. Through a thin place in the brush shelter she could make out a foot–a foot, not a hoof. It moved and she saw its tail. It had a tuft of hair at the end–not the brushy tail of a hyena,

Though she didn’t move, her frightened heart exchanged places with her lungs.

What should she do? Scream? No. Wake their master? Probably. But he slept on the other side of the fire.

If she called him, she’d wake Chaney. Mustn’t wake Chaney. If the squirt started screaming, who knew what that animal would do. The snuffling sound grew louder by the second and their unstable fortress shivered. That beast meant to tear it down.

Roz had to do something. What could she do? Still not moving she searched through her pitiful store of knowledge.

Throw rocks?

No.

Stare at the beast and point at it until it went away?

Worked with a snarling dog.

Not likely. Not at all.

Fire? …

That’ll do.

Their collection of sticks and small logs lay near her head. Still lying down, she raised her right arm in slow motion. Her fingers felt for a stick or two to fuel their blaze–something small that wouldn’t crush the fire’s remaining embers.

The creature’s noisy breathing stopped. Slowly Roz dropped the handful of twigs into the embers. Within seconds they blazed up.

The animal reacted with a guttural cough and a soft growl. It probably wouldn’t bother them if she made a bigger fire.

Still frightened, Roz sat up slowly, picked up a few larger sticks and put them on the fire. She waited for the larger sticks to catch and blaze.

Nothing else she could do, except pray that the beast wouldn’t decide to knock down their defense before she got the fire going. She prayed and she kept praying.

Again, the brush fortress shivered. Without thought, Roz leaped to her feet and grabbed the largest hunk of firewood in the pile.

The piece of firewood fit her hand like the handle of a hammer; the larger end looked enough like a club to be one.

Roz encouraged herself by thinking of the young King David of Israel. He had killed at least a lion and a bear when he was just a boy.

Maybe, with God’s help, I can convince this beast to go away.

Please Jesus, let it be so.

She squatted and rocked from side to side, like a tennis player ready to leap in any direction when her opponent slammed a serve at her.

Could be that if the Lord directed her hands and if this creature wasn’t starving, she could convince it to leave with a solid blow on the nose. She thought about it and stopped panting in terror.

I won’t be afraid.

Her eyes closed to slits, she exposed her teeth in a snarl like the carving of an ancient demon she remembered seeing at a museum. Two could play the attack game if it came to that.

With that in mind she made a sound much like air escaping from a tire hose and slapped her club into her other hand.

They said dog noses are super-sensitive to blows and many other animals were nose sensitive as well.

Stay alive!

Then the sticks she’d put on their campfire caught the flame and the light flared. With that, the animal rumbled a curse and disappeared into the darkness.

A feeling of relief strong enough to make her dizzy flooded over Roz. She sat down, hard.

The master sat up. “You handled that beast wisely. I could not have done it better myself.”

“Thank you, sir.” He couldn’t see her shaking hands.

He added several more sticks to the blaze. “That might have been a lion. Haven’t seen one since I was about ten, but still…”

At the thought of having been that close to a lion, all the air left Roz’s lungs. She thought she might faint.

“I hope you will be able to handle my wife that well.”

“Sir?”

“She will not be happy to see you.”

With a sinking feeling she said, “We are brides for your sons. That is what you said.” When he said nothing, she prodded with, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course you will be brides. But my wife and I meant to buy a donkey with the money that bought you. And you have no dowry. My wife will not like what I did. But we will discuss it tomorrow. Sleep now.”

Why couldn’t he keep his bad news to himself until morning?

*************

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