miriam's pov

She stares after him, time stretching like the evening shadows. Not willing to think about the questions uncovered by the encounter, she turns her attention to seeking confirmation for her hopes. She recalls that final look in his eyes, thinking, now he knows, and she prays that the knowledge takes root in his heart, guides him toward his destiny, to his people. The sounds of softly lapping water and rustling reeds suddenly overwhelm her: once again she is watching as the tall Egyptian queen bends over the basket, while behind the woman, a toddler son tugs at the attendant's white dress.

Her reverie ends when she feels familiar hands gently grasp her shoulders, and she allows herself to be guided up through the doorway, into the small house, to the table. Now that she is back in the present, she finally feels the ache in her wrist and arm. She realizes, too, what her earlier actions must mean to the only other family she has left.

He is sitting close by and looking at her with an expression mixed with concern, fear, frustration, sadness. She means to talk to him about what has happened. But now is not the time. She reaches out with her right hand to smooth his brow. How many times has she teased him about all the worrying he does? He worries enough for the both of them. How many times has he mumbled in reply that one of them has to (but he will continue to worry despite his grumbling).

She will reassure him that she is alright, though he might not believe her. She understands why he needs to protect her. Not for the last time, she thinks about the night's events, the recognition in the prince's eyes, kindling hope in her breast, and she prays for a day when they will be free and that need to protect will not feel so desperate.

note: although presented sequentially in chapters, this story and its companion, which is told from aaron's point of view, do not need to be read in any particular order.