When I heard that the King's sons were in the land, I marveled at their audacity. Our people had made our position clear. Our fathers left the Nephite traditions behind them. We scorned them. They were outdated and simple, the ideals of times past. We had moved on to better lives, better purposes. And here they were again, begging for us to come back to them. My father scoffed. My brothers scoffed. And I scoffed.
I went to hear their preaching with my brothers, not because we expected them to change our minds, but because we wanted to show them the errors of their ways. Of course. The law forbade any physical abuse to them, but it said nothing about embarrassing them. We arrived with our dungheaps and our ale. I was no better than anyone there.
But I was caught by surprise. I was raised to believe Mosiah was a heathen, that his sons were simpletons, fit only to spout the lies of the ancients. And yet, I saw in them myself. When Aaron spoke, I heard the words of my grandmother's stories. She only ever spoke them when we were alone, grinding the meal from the maize. She spoke of a mighty creator, a savior for all mankind. And Aaron described the same.
I could not throw the dung.
I said nothing until we returned home. Clearly none of my brothers knew or remembered the stories that grandmother shared. I waited, listening, hoping someone would speak kindly of the Nephites' words. But there was nothing but coarseness and disgust. There was talk of traps, or ambushes and midnight beatings. When talk became plans I knew I could wait no longer.
As the sun began to rest, I set out to find the princes. I could not stop my brothers, but I could warn these men away from the destruction that awaited them, even if it meant my own disgrace.
I ran to Aaron and his brothers. They listened to my words and heeded me. Before the gates were sealed, they were gone. But I was discovered and the evil energy reserved for the sons of Nephites was laid on me. I was kicked, pummeled, stoned, spat upon, dragged, and thrown. Thankfully my mind closed itself before my brothers finished delivering my punishment. My last thought, my dying hope, was that by seeing to the safety of the Lord's messengers, I might be granted mercy and forgiveness for my own foul trespasses.
I simultaneously rejoiced and despaired when I woke again. How I came to be outside the city walls, I know not. Every part of me ached. I slept and woke, slept and woke. I felt the presence and pecking of many fowl, but was fortunate that no larger predator braved to wander so near our population. For two days I rested at the edge of the forest, waiting either to die or to live. Finally, my desperation for what overcame the pain in my limbs and I dragged myself into the thick of the forest, following the paths of woodland creatures to a pool of fresh water. I drank and I slept.
I awoke again to my own scream and the pain that seared through my foot. Instantly the pain abated, but throbbed with every passing second. Quick hands cleaned and bandaged the freshly flowing blood from my leg. Herbed water poured into my mouth, bringing sweet relief in the form of more sleep.
I woke again and found my wounds were cleaned, an unfamiliar cloak spread over me. Voices whispered urgently behind me. I turned to discover the source and found two men, Nephites by apparel, crouched before a fire. One looked to me and saw me watching. The whispers ceased immediately and the man came to my side and looked over my bandaged wounds. He asked me if I hungered and then he, Aaron, the eldest son of the Nephite king, fed me broth as if I were his precious child. He cared for me until I was able to travel. I later learned that he had sent his party on ahead to safety in the land of Ishmael while only he and Adoni stayed to care for me, an Amalekite of low birth. When my injuries permitted, we traveled on, the two great Nephites half-carrying me in turns until we arrived at the great house of Anti-Nephi-Lehi.
There I stayed, cared for and nursed to full health by the medicine man to the great Lamanite king. As I recovered, Aaron and his brothers taught me the remainder of the truth of God. They gladly shared in whole with me the stories and truths that my grandmother feared to share and so only gave pieces. Now, I know.
My friendship with Aaron has remained steady and strong through the trials that my father's people have caused to us. Though I was an Amalekite by birth, I am one of the people of Ammon by choice. In my heritage I am alone, but in my inheritance, I am one of thousands.
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