How did you do it?ĭevora. Do what? Young man, half the land is burning. Devora, how-how did you do it? How did you pull the tribes together? You’re a woman in the twelfth century among a people who barter women like cattle. You can’t imagine it.ĭevora. And do you know what else you’ve never done? You’ve never buried those who mattered most to you.

And all the while watching the trees at the edge of the field for any motion, listening for any moan on the air. You’ve never dug through the barren field outside your encampment while the ash from your burned tents is still falling through the air. You’ve never had to choose between feeding yourself and feeding your infant. You have never gone two weeks without more than a bite of bread to eat. You know what is more difficult than protecting the tribes from the wandering dead? Feeding them.ĭevora. No, you can’t. The winter isn’t half over yet, and there wasn’t much of a harvest. a pause - I don’t think I want to talk about that.ĭevora. What do you see when you do close your eyes?ĭevora. Easier to keep going than to close your eyes and face the dreams. Sometimes it’s easier to stay on your feet, to keep fighting. Devora, truly, it is especially gracious of you, as I know you’re staying up nights trying to hold your people together against the thousands of walking dead moving into your land. I’m here with Devora, a twelfth-century BC prophetess who has graciously joined me for this interview.

Strangers in the Land by Stant Litore