Praying with open eyes.

The king was up early, before the rest of the household. It was an old habit from years of living in caves and in fields. He couldn’t forget being watchful of sheep and soldiers, watching for wolves, both animal and human.

He slipped through the building and out the door, nodding silently at the salute from the sleeping sentinel. He sat on the portico, in David’s chair. He looked east, across a valley. The top of the hill, in later years to be known for it’s olive trees, was tinged with pink.

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