Having performed my duties as overseer, I was heading back towards the front of the caravan, where my superiors were eagerly awaiting my report.
It is safe to assume that they will be pleased, for the supplies are lasting and the people remain spirited, despite the horrors that they have faced. However, it is clear that it is going to take weeks before we are able to ascend the mountain, perhaps months before everyone is safely on the other side.
Time we simply do not have.
I cannot help but think that all of this would have been much easier if the caravan had remained split into homogenised sections, as was the plan from the beginning. But time was not on our side, and as a result, the caravan is a mishmash of different peoples; different nationalities and social classes. Though such things do not matter any longer, it is hard to deny the inevitable conflict that arises when so many people with different opinions and experiences are mixed together.
We truly are a strange race who manages to find conflict in the midst of our demise.
Read the rest of the series here: The Exodus Journal