The dusty road ended at the edge of a Galilee village. The young man stepped from the dirt path, ochre dust swirling around his sandals like a small storm. A woman stood in his way, a basket of broken olives tilting at her hip. Her bare toes curled into the dry earth. He opened his mouth to speak, but she did not look up.
A small child tugged at the woman's cloak and whispered something in her ear. The woman's shoulders shook. She covered her face with both hands and ran between the mud-brick houses. The child turned to the young man. Her dark eyes were bright with tears and something else — something like hope. She reached out her hand.
At the market's edge, a man shouted at a donkey that would not move. The donkey stamped its hooves in the dust while the crowd jeered. The young man knelt down, his face level with the donkey's front leg. The man's boots were close above him. He parted the coarse fur around the donkey's paw.
A thick thorn was buried deep in the donkey's padded foot. The young man's fingers worked carefully at it. With a gentle pull, the thorn came free. The donkey threw its head back and sneezed — a great wet sneeze that sprayed rainwater from a week ago right across the yelling man's face. The crowd fell silent.
Word had spread. By afternoon, a Roman captain marched into the village with two guards behind him. His polished boots crunched on gravel. He stopped before the young man and unrolled a parchment scroll. "By sunset, you leave this village," he said. "That is the order." The young man nodded once.
He walked to the village well and lowered the wooden bucket on its creaking rope. Cool water sloshed inside. He carried the full jug toward the soldiers' camp at the village edge. The captain's horse snorted and backed away from the cold water dripping from the clay.
The soldiers surrounded the young man at the village edge. Three spears glinted in the late afternoon sun. The captain stepped forward, his scroll held upright. The youngest guard shifted his weight, looking from the young man to his captain with a furrowed brow.
A flock of sparrows burst from the olive trees above them all at once. They chattered and swooped, dipping between the soldiers' legs and fluttering just above their helmets. The youngest guard tried to shoo them away, but one landed near his boot and he started to laugh.
He laughed until he could not breathe, and his spear clattered to the ground. The other guards joined in, their tension melting away. The captain looked at his scroll, then at the young man, then at his men. He rolled the parchment back up and tucked it into his belt. Without a word, he turned and walked back toward town.
The road back to Jerusalem stretched ahead, painted gold and violet by the setting sun. A little girl ran beside the young man, skipping and tossing wildflowers into the air. Each petal caught the light like tiny stained-glass windows. He picked one up and tucked it gently behind her ear. She smiled.