He had believed-quietly, faithfully-that some things earned protection by virtue of what they had endured. That the tree, marked by storms and years of sheltering others, would somehow be spared.

But faith, he was learning, did not work that way.

God did not bargain with suffering.

God entered it.

Silas knelt there on the ridge, ash collecting in the creases of his hands, and felt a grief deeper than loss of property or place. This was the grief of watching something holy be tested beyond recognition.

He did not ask why.

He asked only for the strength not to turn away.