He took of his cap and dried the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The linnen cap was already soaking from sweat. He gazed towards the sun. Sun burning his eyes.
He called out to his son to bring him some water. His son hurried to bring him the water bottle that he handed over with his head bowed. With a trembling voice he told his father that the water was almost out. His father bent down. Held him hard around the neck and with his dark growling voice asked him; “Well why don’t run to the well and get some more”!
He took the bottle and writhed out of his fathers grip. He could feel the slap in the air behind him. With a long harang of swearword the father resumed his struggle with a large stone in the dry soil. As he placed it with the others in the stonewall he looked at it. This would help keeping the neighbors sheep in their place. But the poor soil in the field he was clearing would not feed many mouths.
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