The Prophet, fuelled by little else than divine words to find His people, wandered for seventeen long weeks until he stumbled upon their little village.
When he looked upon their own bodies, as emaciated as his, he felt the kinship that He had spoken of and although he was near delirious with exhaustion his God assured him that yes; These Were They.
Had he not been he may have noticed the distinct proportions of the knucklebones that adorned their necks or the hungry look in their eyes when they told him their would be a great feast in his honour.
Random word job again today: prophet and dinner.
Alastair Merson 