Across the little village square, the door of a house clicked open and shut, followed by the click-tapping of a cane across wood.
"Did I hear a horse? Do we have visitors?"
An ancient, bowed over little old woman made her way down the few steps from her porch, squinting through the soft daylight towards us.
"Just a man calling himself a prophet, and his companion a saintess."
"A saintess?" She seemed to perk up. A breeze picked up some wayward white strands from the bun on her head to stand them up as well.
"Yes. The kids went to bring in the others from the field. Man says he has a miracle to prove his worth."
The little old lady shuffled over to us, her cane a might more muffled against the hard-packed earth of the square. I watched her with a growing smile. She reminded me of the
