"SO ELOHIM CAN grant you all your heart's desires if you pray enough to him, right?" I asked Ada, as she resurfaced from the water. She'd been humouring me the past few days as the only woman in camp who was willing to answer my questions, and for that, I was grateful.

"Well, no," she said, slicking back her wavy russet hair. My mouth pursed in frustration. Trying to figure out their god was like taking a walk through a sandstorm ——unproductive, painful to the skin, and you got a mouth filled with dirt for your efforts. Only instead of sand, it was like my tongue was heavy with always saying the wrong thing.

"He doesn't give us our heart's desires," Ada explained, probably sensing my disappointment. I slowly bobbed in the river, letting my eyes close as my face took in the warmth of the early morning sun. "He gives us what is necessary."

"What's the difference?" I asked, with a shrug that made the water ripple. My mother's gods hadn't responded to either wants or needs.

Ada stood and wrung her hair out, water cascading down her goose-pimpled dark skin. Her mouth twitched to the side with thoughtfulness. "Let me explain it a bit simpler. When I was a girl, I didn't want to get married. I wanted to travel, and see the world."

She caught my eye and released a snort, even though I tried to keep my face as impassive as possible. "Foolish, right? But then I met Japheth. And although I didn't want —— or daresay, need him —— I did need his God. And I met Elohim through him."

She took a seat on the bank, facing away from where the camp was, and looked in the direction of the Ark. Her amber eyes twinkled even more with the reflection of the water in their depths. I listened with bated breath, although I wasn't wholly certain why I was so engrossed.

"I realised what I'd been missing before, and what led me to believe I had to try and travel to find it, was actually just ... Right here." Ada shook her head. "But not before I tried to run away," she added drily.

"You tried to run away?" I gasped, and that gasp turned into a laugh. Because it was just so Adataneses. And if Japheth and all his teasing had been my betrothed, I probably would have run away as well.

Her head-shaking turned more vehement, although her smile grew in its playfulness. "Oh yes. Why do you think Noah has no camels around camp? It took three days for he and Japheth to catch up to me!"

"And then Noah got rid of the camels," a quiet third voice added.

I looked over Ada's shoulder and grinned. A fist that had been wrapped around my heart eased. "Sedeqet! You're up!"

She returned my smile, and then shrieked as Ada tried to give her a hug. "Don't get my kēthanoth wet, Ada!"

Once she, too, had joined us in the water, we all bobbed in a circle in the center of the river. "But now I wouldn't dream of running away," Ada said, her eyes shut in contentment. "And once the Ark is completed, and our duties are over, Japheth promised he'd take me to see a whole new world over the horizon." She flexed her fingers, as if she could already see it.

"Not looking forward to anything else, Ada?" I quirked an eyebrow at her, trying to elicit a flushed giggle. I succeeded, and she splashed water right into my face.

"You shouldn't be talking about such things, Na'el! You aren't even married yet!"

Sedeqet rolled her eyes, which was surprising coming from her. "With all that you and Japheth do in plain sight, it's no wonder the poor girl has had her innocence tainted."

Ada released an indignant shriek, but her mouth curled in good humour. "Would both of you please stop? Anyway, Na'el," I let her harried way of changing the subject slide, "that's how Elohim gave me what I needed, not what I wanted. If I had succeeded in running away, I don't know where I would've gone. I would probably have been dead by now, killed by thieves or thirst."

I mulled it over in my head. "And you were sad about it?"

"Of course, at the time! But now I look back and realise it was all for the best. Everything happened the way it was always meant to."

"Even life with Elohim doesn't mean a life without sadness, Na'el," Sedeqet added. She stirred the water with one hand. "But we know we can always get through our strife, because of His support and His love."

She slapped the water in sudden epiphany, which made me jump. "Like Adam and Eve! You know the story, right?"

The names sounded familiar, but underneath the gazes of both women, I dared not voice my uncertainty. They were both so wise, I realised. Was that a gift from Elohim? In the face of it, I felt very much inferior to them.

"Yes?"

"Well, do you remember when Elohim confronted them both in the Garden of Eden, after eating from the Tree of Knowledge? They must have been so terrified, and ashamed, and sad. They had known what the punishment for their disobedience was, and yet," Sedeqet's eyes searched mine, "He sought them out."

"And He knew they'd done wrong," Ada added. She crossed her arms over her breasts. "He could've struck them down on the spot for being tricked by a serpent." Ada shook her head disapprovingly.

"Yes," Sedeqet continued. "And instead of killing them for their crime, He spared them and made them clothes from animals. In their anguish, He tended to them."

"But he still banished them from the Garden of Eden," I pointed out. I knew that part of the story. It was the unraveling point for generations of people after.

Ada shot Sedeqet a glance. The eldest woman flicked her hair over her shoulder, and I saw the disappointment shrouding her brow. Had I missed the point of her story? I couldn't be certain.

"Of course," she said, more subdued. "And He told them to be fruitful and multiply." She looked at me, as if by will alone, she could make me see. I almost wished that were possible —— I hated how ignorance clouded my words and made both Ada and Sedeqet more quiet with despondency at my misunderstanding.

"That's so the Garden of Eden went from being a place, to becoming part of the people."

Sedeqet looked at the woods, in the direction of the fields. She suddenly looked pained, like a hare caught under the scrutiny of a jackal.

"Let's go," she said.

Ada followed her from the water, but I stayed a minute longer and watched them dress, lingering in their words and the warmth of the river.

"And me?" I asked, once I finally clambered onto the bank. They both waited. Ada's head tilted to the side. "Will I be happy with Him?"

"With Ham?" Sedeqet ran her fingers through her hair, already beginning to tie it into its usual updo. The damp strands clung to her face. "I'm sure you will be."

Ada started for the camp, and I clamped my jaw shut, the moment passed for me to correct her. Had I even asked what I'd truly meant to? Or had his name slipped from my traitorous tongue by accident?

|||

I was surprised to see Shem and Ham still at the camp. "Father and Japheth will be back soon," Ham was telling his mother.

Shem reached Sedeqet within three strides, and pressed his forehead to hers, murmuring sweet words into her skin. I quickly moved past them, feeling like I was intruding.

Ham's eyes fixed on mine. Or, they eventually did, as his gaze swept from my damp toes up til my sopping hair, and then back down again. Emzara beckoned Ada over, and they too, stepped away, whispering hushedly. Ada kept casting glances at me, I could tell, but I was fixated on Ham.

"Shem and I are going to town today," he said. He raised one hand to rub his neck, not breaking his gaze. "Would you like to ... Come with us?"

His voice, for once, sounded boyish and uncertain. I remembered what he'd told me at the river —— that he'd take me to town to see my sister. But now he was asking.

In some strange way I could not explain, the whirlwind that had suddenly replaced my heart knew there was a difference.

I hoped none of this showed on my face. I kept my voice steady. "Let me get my water skin," I said, and I entered Noah and Emzara's tent before he could say anything else.

Away from the deep blue depths that threatened to swallow me, I hugged myself and looked at the pillow I'd hidden Naamah's figurine under. My face threatened to crack in half with a grin.

I'll see you soon, Naamah, I thought, and it was a promise.