Ruth: Reimagined

Flames

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Flames
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It had been a week's journey through the desert, burdened by the scalding sun, the humid air, and the sand that made it everywhere. With their carts, camels,  sheep, and cattle, they pushed on. Their skin had tinted a shade darker, something that the Moabites took pride in.

The sun rose, and it set once again, making way for the cold desert night.

Underneath the stars that sparkled in  in clusters of beauty, where the moon glistened,  giving light to their way; underneath all that the moabites  were on a pilgrimage.

An innumerable number of them moved along the desert at night to their promised destination. The king of Moab, King Elgon, moved at the forefront,  along with the priests and the royal warriors and the  prominent, wealthy men of Moab. Then came the commoners.

The women wore their thicker, longer sheath dresses and held their shawls closer, every part of their body covered except for their eyes, that revealed everything.

The men wore their  clothes like it was  armour. They created  warmth with their hands, with their movements and their  rambunctious laughter. While the children cuddled up to their mothers or the closest lamb or ran through the desert, the fun created a warmth of its own.

The desert was cold at night. The heat of the day vanished in one moment, and all that was left was this icy cold wind that spread chills.

They moved along the desert with purpose, only stopping when the priests said so.

Amidst the royal, prominent carts, Ruth rode on one of the camels that pulled her family's cart, alongside Dalia, a friend of hers. The camel's pace was slow, steady, and calm. It carried her weight, as though nothing. She remembered how, as a little girl, she would feel the lump of the camel, this weird, strong extra muscle that made the camel what it was.

As they spoke, they saw the mist of their breaths in the air, a reminder of how cold it was. Ruth refused to go in to shelter in the warm cart with her mother and father as they continued to talk about  marriage. Her marriage.

“ Marriage is really of no importance,” Dalia said, her eyes looking over the crowd of men, behind and before her.

“Especially here in Moab. Why marry when men and women give love for  free.”

Dalia said the last sentence, a slow smirk on her face, her light eyes holding mischief. Ruth knew immediately that she was not talking about love.

“Dalia, be serious for once.” Ruth stressed, her head felt heavy, she felt this burden on her back that could only be described as the hump the camel had.

“I am.” Dalia said,  “There is no importance of marriage here Ruth, except if you're marrying the prince, but we all know he's got his plate full.”

The great prince, King Elgon’s son, slept with every woman who stepped into the palace and anyone who caught his eye outside of it.

“Well, marriage does have importance to me.”Ruth confessed, feeling flushed already.

Dalia wasn't a very emotional girl. She was more action, more seductive, and more woman than Ruth could ever dream of being.

Dalia laughed, a teasing sound. It made something in Ruth shrink a little. She covered it up with a laugh of her own.

Ruth had witnessed love in the eyes of her father, who still had eyes for her mother. She'd seen it in the whispers, the laughs, and the talks they still shared. She'd seen it in how her mother's silent treatment was unbearable to her father. She'd seen it in his faithfulness. The women of Moab were known to lure and tempt men, and  Ruth was certain many had tried on her father even after he was married, but he remained faithful.