Take This Cup by Brock Thoene, Bodie Page A

washed away, leaving a hollow large enough to shelter us. The outstretched, overhanging bark was shaped like the feathers of an enormous wing.
    “ ‘Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High,’ ” the rabbi quoted, “ ‘will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.’ 2 See here, boy: the Lord has prepared a nest for us. We can rest here out of sight of any who might be looking for us.”
    My stomach growled and I rubbed it. “Sir, I’m hungry. Will the Lord give us breakfast too?”
    “Aye, count on it,” the rabbi affirmed, scanning the forest floor. “It is written, ‘Call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you.’ 3 Nehi, my boy, the Lord provides for all his children. Look there, at the base of the cedar: a crop of mushrooms. Bigones, some as big as my hand. Go on, boy. Pick as many as you can eat. Wash them there in the pool. Two of that size is enough to fill me up. When we set out again, we’ll take a sack full with us.”
    I plucked the thick, meaty caps and rinsed them in the clean water. The rabbi made the blessing for the bread, and then we two made a meal. They are very good, I thought as I munched, and filling too.
    A wave of exhaustion swept over me. With the rabbi already in the shelter of the fallen tree and snoring softly, I crept in beside him. In moments I was also fast asleep.

    When I awoke, I did not immediately recognize where I was or remember how I came to be there. The wounds in my hands stung, and my chin and jaw ached. Dirt sifted down the back of my neck, and a sharp rock pressed into my ribs. I wanted to move, to stretch, but was overcome with a sense of dread.
    Then recollection flooded me: The riders in camp. The attack. The escape into the darkness. The endless struggling uphill into blackness. The ominous sounds of pursuit. The collapse into the shelter beneath the fallen tree and the overpowering need to sleep away the dangers of daytime.
    What about my mother and father and Beni? Were they alive, or had all been killed? I refused to believe any of them were dead, even though I had seen how desperate the fight was. I shook away the gloomy thoughts. Surely my father was seeking for me . . . or was it only the murderer Zimri who followed us?
    How I longed for the security of our camp! For Father’s steady, confidence; for Mother’s quiet, peaceful strength; for Beni’s exuberant defense. Anguish bit off chunks of my hope. How much had been stolen from me in less than a day!
    Lying very still, I listened. A bird chirped across the canyon. Rabbi Kagba’s breathing was rasping but steady.
    A swirl of air brought the scent of pine. We must have climbed very high indeed to be so near an evergreen forest.
    I squinted at the light lancing down outside the shelter. A flat, dark green, knife-shaped leaf, sticking upright in the soft amber-hued soil, cast almost no shadow. So, it’s near noon, I thought. The rabbi said we must remain in hiding until nightfall; then we can emerge and decide our next move.
    A towering white thundercloud loomed up above the opposite peak. It spread out across the gorge, obscuring the light for a minute before retreating again.
    I reached over my head and patted the reddish-brown roof formed by the fallen yew tree. It must have been a giant before some storm brought it down. Its trunk was at least eight feet across. When the rabbi and I discovered the hollow on the downslope side, I had seen that the log stretched some sixty feet along the hillside.
    How long until it was night again? Was there still a reason to remain hidden, or were we fleeing from shadows without substance?
    A pair of finches, fighting over a sprig of red berries, fluttered to the ground in front of me. They chattered and argued, tugging against each other until a plump gray-and-rust-colored thrush swooped in and settled the dispute by seizing the twig and flying off with it.
    I looked over my shoulder at the rabbi. Still sleeping. I wondered if I should emerge and seek the