It may have been several days since Hazael had been thrown against the steps of the temple by the drunk Greek, but the pain in his head made it seem like had only happened just that morning. For four days, Hazael has had to live with this steady pounding in his head, screaming at him at all hours of the day, making it hard to do much of anything other than lie down. Even the necessary trips he made to the kennel around the back of his home had been absolutely excruciating to the nineteen-year-old. Truly he longed for nothing more than the ability to just sleep until this massive headache finally faded away.

Even though the boy was clearly suffering in the wake of his run-in with the Greek, he had found almost no sympathy at home for his plight. Hazael would have assumed that his father would have treated the boy like some sort of martyr after having been attacked by the Greeks, but that hadn’t been the case. His father had made no effort in disguising the fact that he thought that his son was a dimwitted fool for stepping into the situation in the first place. It didn’t matter to Avriam that there had been no one else who could have intervened without causing unnecessary harm to the barely trained Greek dog. His father just seemed to assume that because Hazael had raised the dog himself that he should have instinctively known that its handler was a drunkard that had been left behind. Nevermind the fact that Hazael had never directly sold the pup to that Greek, but instead, the dog had traded hands through other people. His father might be keen to find fault in his son, but truly Hazael had done the best he could given the situation. He only just hoped that Yahweh didn’t agree with his father on this matter.

His mother, Levana, had told him at one point that she thought his father was not happy with the number of healers that now came to visit Hazael and how they insisted that he remain in bed for as long as possible, hoping that the pounding in his head would cease if given enough time to heal on its own. Hazael could see the logic in this even if he thought that it was absolutely shameful reasoning. Contrary to many of the temple’s teachings; Hazael knew that his father was a prideful man. He was not the sort who would enjoy having strangers in his home, even if was to ensure that Hazael was okay. If that wasn’t reasoning enough for Avriam to not take kindly to the fact that the black sheep of this family was injured, Haz suspected that his father’s grumpiness also had something to do with the fact that if the boy was home, he wasn’t around to help in the shop. Not that Hazael was really trusted with anything important in the first place, he was too much of a klutz to be given any sort of real responsibility there. Just the jobs that Avriam and Haz’s elder brother Tiras didn’t want to do themselves. The nineteen-year-old suspected that this was the real reason why the elder men in his family were so eager for Hazael to get back on his feet regardless of what the healers said.

Not that they would ever admit such selfish reasonings aloud. At least not where Yahweh could hear.

That morning had been another battle in trying to get the men to leave Hazael alone. There had been angry shouts and flaring tempers just like there had always been, but Hazael had been lucky enough that one of the healers had appeared just before Avriam, Tiras, and his younger brothers were supposed to leave. That had put the matter to rest as enough though the two kings of this household could be callous to the black sheep among them, they would never dare to cause a scene in front of a stranger, so they had left quietly as the Healer came to check on the wound and see if Hazael had improved. The changes had only been marginal, but it hadn’t been the state of his healing head that had piqued Hazael’s interest while the Healer checked on the boy. The guest in his home had mentioned that there had been a man asking where Hazael could be found. Apparently, he had questions about what had happened that day on the steps, but the boy had been impossible to find as he had been cooped up in his home for so long.

Hazael wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to this man. After all, he didn’t know if he could take another stranger mentioning how the hindsight of the situation had made him a dumb fool. However, like most other things in the boy’s life, he didn’t have much of a choice. The healer had already told this Abir fellow where Hazael could be found and that the boy should expect him to be here sometime this afternoon. Hazael was certainly not pleased with this, but there was little that he could do. All he could do was hope that this Abir fellow didn’t bring more bad news for Hazael such as the man who he had helped was now dead or something akin to that. He wasn’t sure if he could take any more negative things between the pounding in his head and the mess that his elder relatives put him through.

That was why Hazael was now sitting in the warm afternoon sunlight, waiting for this Abir fellow to appear along the long and twisting road that made up the boy’s neighborhood. He knew that he probably shouldn’t be out here, but given that both of his mothers and all of his sisters were here without another male relative present, it would be easier if Hazael just met Abir outside so that he might not hear any more nonsense from his father. At least the weather wasn’t that bad as Hazael leaned against the wall of his house, watching Bracha play with the dog that had bothered the older man at the temple. Even though the pup belonged to the Greek technically, his little stunt at the temple steps where he had assaulted two Judeans had ensured that he would no longer be in any state to care for the dog. Hazael had offered to take him in until a new home could be found -- a better one that won’t see his hounds end up in the hands of some lowly greek.

It had been a peaceful few hours as the dogs playfully fought over the various rope toys that had been scattered around the yard. Feeling the urge to sleep wash over him, Hazael had nearly nodded off when the new dog suddenly started yapping up a storm, pulling on the generous leash that kept the dog in the yard and managing to jolt the nineteen-year-old awake. Even though the boy was practically blind and could not see anything more than an endless blur of shapes and color, he could see the movement of another approaching the modest home that somehow fit ten people. “Abir?” Hazael called out, unsure if this was really the man who had been sent to speak with him or his own horrible vision was causing him to make another embarrassing mistake, “You wished to speak with me?”