The young shepherd boy climbed the dusty hill, his basket bumping against his hip. Far below, two lines of soldiers waited — motionless and quiet in the valley.
Then a giant strode between them! His voice rolled across the valley and a flock of birds exploded from a bush. The boy froze behind a boulder.
The giant stomped. The ground jumped. He pressed flat against the warm stone and counted his breaths. One. Two. Three.
From his bag he pulled his sling and smoothed a stone. He swung once. Twice. Again. The rope hummed steady, and his fingers stopped shaking.
He stepped out. Swish, swish, SWOOSH! The stone flew. The giant blinked — and dropped with a crash that shook the wild thyme from the ground.
The hiding soldiers popped up from behind rocks and bushes and cheered. The thyme plants trembled. The boy looked down at his sling, then at the quiet valley.
David walked toward the two armies. They parted like a curtain, letting him through. The sun warmed his shoulders as he climbed the ridge.
He reached the top of the hill. The valley lay still and quiet below. He sat down, set his basket beside him, and listened to the wind.