"WHAT IS IT?" Ham asked, looking up at the sky from beneath my hands as I gently poured water over his hair.

"Stay still," I murmured, trying not to tense as he settled, his shoulders against my knees. He lied in the river, pressed up against me as I sat on the bank and washed his hair. Usually Emzara did this —— helping Ham to wash his wound, and ensuring he didn't hurt himself again in his frail condition —— but Noah had pulled her aside to talk with him.

"Noah called it a 'cloud'," I answered his question, kneading my fingers through his dark curls. His hair was thick, and I hoped the small wooden bowl of oils Emzara had given me would be enough to wrangle out the knots.

Ham made a monosyllabic noise in the back of his throat, and the sound vibrated through my legs. He raised his hands and let the water run down his wrists in rivulets. "Of course he'd know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, raising a brow, even though he couldn't see me. I lathered my hands in oil and gently worked against his scalp. He tilted his head back a little, maybe in pleasure, maybe to give me a better angle.

"He always knows everything. But he never tells us anything." He let his hands fall into the water, splashing the hem of my kēthanoth. "He won't tell us when the Flood will happen. He won't tell us that the Ark is complete, even though we have no more use for the wood, and the pitch has sealed every nook and cranny of that blasted ——"

"Maybe he doesn't know," I interjected, knowing I had to defend Noah in his absence. He'd been nothing but kind to me, and Ham was being unfair. It was plain to see that Noah's focus had been —— and likely always would be —— on his family. Else, why would he have built the Ark in the first place? If he was as selfish and haughty as Ham seemed to think, then wouldn't he have just let us all perish in the Flood?

Ham snorted. "Don't be foolish, Na'el. He can't even tell us when we are to be married. Elohim reveals everything to him, and as for us, he gives us the dregs. Enough to keep us from mutineering on his plan, on his timing."

I held my tongue. Ham had been in this mood for weeks, ever since he'd woken up from his accident. Maybe some part of him blamed his father for his state, and this was his way of releasing his frustration.

I couldn't fault him for that. It was a miracle Ham's leg had healed in the first place; an open fracture across the femur that had grown infected, and even now, after being set and bandaged in torn linen from one of Ezmara's kēthanoths, the wound was an agitated pink scar that marred his sun browned skin.

And he still couldn't walk, which I knew vexed him greatly.

"You shouldn't be so harsh on him," was all I said. I remembered how feverishly his father had prayed for him, when he'd been so close to death, and involuntarily clenched my fists. Ham hissed and raised his hand to catch my wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said, grazing his thumb against my palm. "But you didn't grow up with him. You don't know."

He released me, and my pulse throbbed where his fingers had rested. I heaved a sigh I hoped he didn't notice, and rested my hand on his bare shoulder, appraising his muscled back.

"You have knots," I told him, gently digging in my fingers. He hissed again and squirmed, his hand brushing against my submerged ankle. "And not just in your hair," I ruffled his curls for good measure, trying to make him laugh.

I smiled when I succeeded, but pressed down against the nape of his neck as he tried to turn to face me. "Don't move too much, Ham. Your leg."

"So I'm just at your mercy?" His voice betrayed a smile. "You would torture a crippled man?"

"Torture?" I laughed, pondering on whether I dared try and massage his flexing shoulders. Wondering if I'd be able to stop there. "You don't trust me?"

His hand brushed my ankle again, and this time, I was sure it was intentional. It felt like every inch of my skin was crawling in his proximity, desperate to be even closer. "Of course I do," Ham breathed. "Maybe a little too much."

I didn't respond, and returned my attention to his hair, gently pulling my fingers through the clumped, damp strands. His hand crept higher, to my calf, testing me.

"This is how I used to lull Naamah to sleep," I said. The memories of softly brushing my hands through her hair that had been so similarly coloured to mine had entered my mind unexpectedly, stirred by the similar motions.

"I can see why," Ham tilted his head back further, his curls now resting firmly between my knees. If he looked directly upwards, he could meet my gaze. But his eyes were shut, his eyebrows relaxed. I wished he could keep this look —— of complete peacefulness —— forever.

"Do you still think of her?"

"Less than I used to," I replied, through the lump of guilt that seemed to form in my throat every time I uttered her name. "I wish I could've brought her here. I wish she could've joined us on the Ark."

Ham opened his eyes, and I stilled my hands at his temples, holding his face as tenderly as his gaze was on me. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's not your fault," I replied. I rubbed the last of the oil through his hair, moving his head to reach the nape of his neck. His muscles, I didn't fail to notice, tensed at my touch. "Maybe it was Elohim's way of setting her free from my parents."

Because I wouldn't have. I had abandoned her.

Ham traced little circles across my leg, his eyes focusing past me, back on the cloud.

"Maybe we could name our daughter after her," he said.

I nigh dropped my hands right into his face.

"Our daughter?" I asked, incredulous. My heart sped up in my chest, and the suddenness made me feel like I was seeing stars in my vision.

He's envisioned our children? We're not even married yet!

But then, the self-awareness sidled into my shocked thoughts: I had done it as well, hadn't I? But I'd kept it all locked away deep in my heart, not daring to utter my daydreaming out loud.

"What?" Ham said defensively, though I could see his cheeks darkening. No wonder he was staring at the sky —— it was to avoid my gaze! "I'm allowed to think about the future, aren't I? After the Ark?"

"I'm not saying you can't do that," I groaned. His hand had paused on my leg, clamping down on the muscle, and it was more distracting than I could bear. "But, Ham, it's all according to Elohim's will, isn't it?"

"We're allowed to have desires in line with His will," he replied coolly, quirking an eyebrow at me. "He doesn't deny us our pleasures. "Be fruitful and multiply," He told Adam and Eve ——"

I shook my head, and pulled my legs out of his reach, retreating from the edge of the river as gently as I could. I felt split down the middle; one side of me, desperate to affirm Ham's dreams, and make them a reality (our daughter. What would she look like? Perhaps his black hair, or maybe his eyes, his beautiful eyes), the other, steadfast in wanting to follow the path laid by Noah and Elohim. I couldn't torture myself with the things that would still be a long time coming.

Such thoughts would lead to temptation. And I would not repeat Eve's mistakes.

"Ham," I pleaded. "Please. Not until we're married." I wasn't sure what I was referring to —— his talk about our future children, or his boundary-testing touches. Both. "I mean it. I won't help you out of the river until you swear to me that you will."

"So you'd have me become a fish?" Despite his jesting, his face was twisted in pain already. He'd had to move his leg to turn to face me. Trying to stand and walk back to camp himself would be agony.

I put my hands on my hips. That's up to you, I told him, with my eyes.

Ham's nostrils flared, but he raised his hands and lowered his head. "Alright. I'll stop. You're right. You always are."

My spine sagged with relief, and I hastened to help support him. "Thank you," I murmured, as I slipped under his arm.

I could feel him looking down at me, though I dared not look at him, our faces so close. He said nothing.

|||

When we returned to camp, there was a commotion. Noah stood at the firepit, surrounded by his sons and daughters-in-law. Emzara stood nearby, her hands clenched at her chest.

I frowned when his gaze came to rest on us. I hoped he could not read the guilt likely emblazoned across my face. Sedeqet, I realised, was weeping, Shem's hand supportive on her shoulder.

"What's happened, Father?" Ham asked the question that had been hanging in the air.

Noah's eyes shifted around, like he was searching for someone —— anyone —— who could replace him as spokesperson. Of course, nobody did.

"Elohim came to me again," Noah started, slowly. "The men and the women will now sleep separated. We can't afford any of you," he motioned to his daughters-in-law, who avoided his gaze. Even Ada, the unshakable, was clinging onto Japheth's hands for support, "becoming with child.

"Supplies will be limited on the Ark, and I don't know how long the Flood will last. It's safer this way. And you all can wait until Elohim gives His blessing again. Your children will be born in a new Garden of Eden —"

"You told us we'd have to wait until our duties are over," Shem seethed. I was shocked; it was the most rage I had ever heard in his gravelly voice. The massive man's eyes darted between Noah, and his distraught wife. "It may take years for the Flood to dissipate. Sedeqet and I have waited over a decade, Father, we've been obedient ——"

"Then you can wait longer!" Noah bellowed, making my heart leap in bewilderment once more. Noah, furious? The words didn't belong together.

For a second, it seemed like the old man would continue in his tirade of bubbling anger, but he merely pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his other hand into a fist.

"There's one good thing to come of Elohim's message to me," he muttered. He removed his hand from his face, and looked distractedly at me and his youngest son.

"He has given me His blessing. You and Ham will wed in the autumn."