The rope around her neck stayed slack as she moved forward, her face hidden by her hood, her filthy feet in rope sandals visible beneath her robe. Woven bags covered her bloodied hands, turning them into paws.
A red-mottled-faced man broke from the crowd along the road, rushed her and spat on the ground, screaming “Messiah? Think you’re God?”
She felt rotted vegetation splat onto her back. Wetness penetrated the robe, but the fresh aroma held. “For Him,” she prayed. “For Him.”