9 That night, after Nim’s visit, Dor and Alli climbed a hillside to watch the sun set. They did this almost every evening, recalling the days they chased each other as children. But this time, Dor was quiet. He carried several bowls and a jug of water. When they sat, he told Alli about Nim’s visit. She began to cry. “But where are we to go?” she said. “This is our home, our family. How will we survive?” Dor looked down. “Do you want me enslaved on that tower?” “No.” “Then we have no choice.” He touched her tears and wiped them away. “I am afraid,” she whispered. She hugged her arms around his chest and leaned her head into his shoulder. She did this every night, and like most small demonstrations of love, it had a large impact. Dor felt a surge of calm whenever she held him, like being wrapped in a blanket, and he knew no one else would ever love or understand him the way she did. He nestled his face into her long dark hair, and he breathed a way he never breathed except when he was with her. “I will protect you,” he promised. They sat for a long while, watching the horizon. “Look,” Alli whispered. She loved the sunset colors— the oranges, the soft pinks, the cranberry reds. Dor stood up. “Where are you going?” Alli asked. “I must try something.” “Stay with me.” But Dor moved to the rocks. He poured water into a small bowl, then placed a larger one beneath it. He removed a piece of clay plugged inside a hole in the upper bowl—the one Nim had mocked—and the water began to drip through, one silent splash after another. “Dor?” Alli whispered. He did not look up. “Dor?” She pulled her arms around her knees. What would become of them? she thought. Where would they go? She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
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