Her Father dwells in the golden hour, pouring a warm, amber glow across the vast sky and land, softening even the rugged ridges of the mountains.
Birds chirp overhead, their melodies weaving with the Divine whispers within her heart.
Neva lifts her eyes as a flock sweeps across the sky, her head following their path as they veer southward.
A sweet breeze wavers lacy strands of her loosened curls, caressing her cheeks.
She exhales, fingers twining in silent prayer over the autumn grass.
Footsteps near, and she looks up, meeting her husband's eyes.
"It'll be dark soon." Rhett settles beside her.
"I think we should head back."
She hums, eyes lingering on the golden expanse before them, where the mountain fades into shadow.
"You think they didn't come because they are disapointed?" Her voice falls to a hush, folding into mountain's rhythm—the breeze, the birds, the rustling grass.
"Disappointed in what?" His arm slips around her waist, drawing her into his side.
"In me," she whispers.
He tucks a stray curl behind her ear. "Why would they be disapointed in you?"
"I made them wait too long." She rests her head against his shoulder.
"No, you did not." He presses a soft, lingering kiss to her hair. "He brought you back right on time."
"Then maybe they're disappointed because of what I am." Neva lifts her eyes to his. "They think I'm involved with both you and him, Rhett."
Concern shadows Rhett's gaze, along with something she can't quite place.
"Did someone say that to you?"
"I'm not deaf to their whispers… or blind to the way they look at me."
She gestures behind them—toward the guards lingering near the trees,
and Apphia, Simon, and Pastor Gideon sitting in the shade of a fig tree.
"The two guards who chose to come with us… even they can barely hide their disgust for me." A faint smile curves her lips as she watches Rhean and Apphia's grandson playing on a fallen tree trunk.
Rhett's voice is low, edged with a hint of coldness. "They don't know your truth."
"Maybe they put it all together after seeing us at the service the other day," Neva says.
"What if they don't accept me because of my past?" she asks quietly. "What do I do then?"
"Nothing." His arm tightens around her, pulling her in. "You have faith. Isn't that what you always said?"
She meets his eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Yes. I do."
He smiles back, his lips grazing hers in a warm kiss.
"We should go now." She eases away from him and stands, brushing the dust off her long vintage, pastel yellow dress.
"It's going to take a lot of energy to calm the twins once we're home."
"Well, it would've been a handful, looking after all four." He leans back on his elbows, legs stretched out lazily. "But don't worry—a good present can chase any blue day away." He flashes her a playful wink.
She chuckles softly, arms folding around herself. "And what kind of present would that be?"
"For now, some treats should do," he says, a small frown forming. "Are you cold?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet." She reaches out her hand, nodding toward the others. "Come on."
He grins, taking her hand as he pushes himself to his feet.
With their hands intertwined, they make their way toward the fig tree where the others wait, the few who had accompanied them for what now feels like a failed sermon atop Mount Lumora.
Apphia stands as they draw near.
"Rhean, we're heading home," Rhett calls, but their son is far too absorbed in his own world to notice.
His parents are long forgotten, for he's already found a new best friend in Adam, aside from Zoro, of course.
"Why?" Rhean complains, perched on the fallen trunk beside Adam, reluctant to leave the playground paradise he's found.
"You've had the whole day to yourself, baby," Neva says softly, stopping beside them.
Rhean pouts but nods. He turns to his friend, gesturing homeward with his hands.
Adam nods with a smile, and hops down from the tree trunk.
"Careful!" Neva calls, just as Rhean jumps down after.
Rhean runs to her, grinning, with Adam close behind.
"Look at you, all covered in dirt, you cheeky boy." Neva crouches, gently pinching his cheek before wiping his face with a handkerchief.
The happy grin never leaves Rhean's face.
She smiles at Adam, ruffling his hair before gently wiping his cheeks.
"Are we leaving?" Pastor Gideon asks.
Neva straightens and looks toward him.
"Yes," Rhett says. "If they didn't come by day, they surely won't at night."
"I thought we might spend the night here," Simon says, chuckling.
A short, round-bellied man, Apphia's husband—he remains a lighthearted soul despite all of life's hardships
"Come along, then." Pastor Gideon turns and makes his way down the slope.
Adam runs toward his grandmother, who welcomes him with a smile.
"Do not worry, daughter," Simon says gently. "The people are just afraid. What happened a few days ago… it rattled hearts."
Neva smiles. "Yes... that must be it."
The corpses they found in the forest were from a village fifteen miles away from Ephrath—believers, assumed to be slain by Leviathan's men for breaking his law.
They were buried with respect by the villagers of Ephrath.
Only Pastor Gideon, Apphia, and Simon know the full truth of Leviathan's recent threat. The guards have been ordered to remain silent, to keep the already-bruised villagers from falling deeper into fear.
Because fear is where Leviathan's power dwells. His path to sever faith, to ruling hearts through terror. To erase all hope of redemption. To sever their connection to the One Way, the Truth, and the Life.
As they descend through the clearing of trees and shrubs, the evening chill begins to bite. Neva glances worriedly at Rhean, his sweater not warm enough.
"Nana," she calls, spotting the basket in Apphia's hands.
"Yes, my dear?" Apphia turns, smiling at her.
"I'm so sorry." She steps closer.
"I forgot the basket," she adds, gently taking the wicker basket from her.
Apphia laughs. "No need to apologize, dear. I am not made of straw."
Neva smiles, setting the basket on the ground before opening it and pulling out Rhean's spare navy-blue jacket.
"I'm not cold, Mama," Rhean protests as she slips it onto him.
"You will be soon," she says, zipping it up.
"You should wear yours too," Rhett says.
"I will," Neva says, pulling on her cardigan.
"Want a free ride, boy?" Rhett teases, ruffling their son's hair.
Rhean nods, beaming as he lifts a finger. "But… on your shoulders!"
"You're one sly little fox." Rhett narrows his gaze, then pounces on Rhean, attacking all his ticklish spots.
Rhean squeals, laughter bubbling as he squirms. He reaches for his father's wandering hands at his belly and armpits.
"Dada, stop—" Rhean shrieks, laughter spilling from him as he collapses onto the ground, his father tickling him mercilessly until they're both a tangled heap.
Neva laughs, her heart warming as she absorbs the astonishing bond between father and son.
"Alright, you two—enough now," she interrupts, catching the tearful traces of laughter on her son's cheeks.
The moon hangs high, veiled behind drifting clouds, casting their surroundings in a wash of grey-blue ink.
Rhett straightens, chuckling as he pulls up their boy.
Rhean, still recovering, teeters on unsteady legs like a tiny drunkard, rubbing his tear-streaked cheeks with his small hands.
"Oh, look at what you've done to my son!" Neva crouches,
pouting playfully as she wipes Rhean's cheeks with her handkerchief.
Rhean giggles, stretching his little arms toward his father. "Up, Dada!"
Rhett laughs, bending down and scooping him up in a swift motion, plopping him safely onto his shoulders.
Neva picks up the basket and switches on the flashlight as she walks.
"Let me take the basket," Rhett offers, reaching out.
"I'll carry it," she says gently. "While, you, soldier, can keep watch," she adds, smiling at him.
"As you wish, my Angel," he laughs.
"And me?" Rhean pipes up.
"Ah, you, my boy," Rhett says, holding his little legs, "will be my second-in-command."
The boy giggles—
so full of light and joy,
he lifts his parents' burdens,
if only for a little while.
A soft smile settles
on their faces.
The orthopteras sing,
distant animals howl,
the wind grows colder
as the sky darkens.
But the little family—
warm in each other's love—
descends into the dark:
The boy perched high
on his father's shoulders,
guarding his mother,
while the soldier
walks beside the poet—
their King of kings,
carving a path through the wilderness.