Afternoon, in a rural settlement in the Seret region.
When Sinuhe was a child, he'd been told stories of the war-ravaged mountains, bandits and cutthroats lurking every corner. He wondered how far the truth of those stories stretched. As it went, he had only been met with hospitality. An old matron and her family had sheltered him for several nights now, in exchange for doing odd jobs around their land that required a strong back. The life was not a rich one - he slept on the floor and ate hot millet each morning - but they did not ask him where he had come from, nor when he might leave. It was more generosity than he deserved.
His task for the day was repairing a section of low-slung stone wall. Sinuhe had been stacking and re-stacking rocks all day, quietly amazed at the complexity of it all, putting perhaps too much thought into what rock should go where in order to keep the wall stable long into the future. The sun was beginning its downward turn, well into the later half of the day, but not time to retire just yet. Nearby, a gaggle of children played along the edge of a canal, muddying up the water with bare feet and reed sticks they'd cut themselves. The only adult in sight, Sinuhe watched them with a passive eye, looking up from his work from time to time to make sure they were still being good to each other.
Taking a step back, Sinuhe took a moment to survey his progress. The hole was nearly patched, but a few big stones that didn't seem to fit were still scattered about in the grass. In the stillness of contemplation, his stomach growled. Sinuhe's dark brow furrowed at the sound - maybe it was time for a proper break. He reached down for his pack, but his hand met flattened grass, the supplies he'd brought missing from their place.
"I brought my pack, didn't I?" He asked the wind, searching around the area for his lunch, straying further and further away from the safety of the wall.
When Sinuhe was a child, he'd been told stories of the war-ravaged mountains, bandits and cutthroats lurking every corner. He wondered how far the truth of those stories stretched. As it went, he had only been met with hospitality. An old matron and her family had sheltered him for several nights now, in exchange for doing odd jobs around their land that required a strong back. The life was not a rich one - he slept on the floor and ate hot millet each morning - but they did not ask him where he had come from, nor when he might leave. It was more generosity than he deserved.
His task for the day was repairing a section of low-slung stone wall. Sinuhe had been stacking and re-stacking rocks all day, quietly amazed at the complexity of it all, putting perhaps too much thought into what rock should go where in order to keep the wall stable long into the future. The sun was beginning its downward turn, well into the later half of the day, but not time to retire just yet. Nearby, a gaggle of children played along the edge of a canal, muddying up the water with bare feet and reed sticks they'd cut themselves. The only adult in sight, Sinuhe watched them with a passive eye, looking up from his work from time to time to make sure they were still being good to each other.
Taking a step back, Sinuhe took a moment to survey his progress. The hole was nearly patched, but a few big stones that didn't seem to fit were still scattered about in the grass. In the stillness of contemplation, his stomach growled. Sinuhe's dark brow furrowed at the sound - maybe it was time for a proper break. He reached down for his pack, but his hand met flattened grass, the supplies he'd brought missing from their place.
"I brought my pack, didn't I?" He asked the wind, searching around the area for his lunch, straying further and further away from the safety of the wall.