Rebecca’s Whisper  “Run! Don’t look back”, I whispered softly, squeezing my son to my bosom one last time. I watched him run into the inky night with nothing more than a satchel across his back as the sobs rocked my body.  My beloved son.  As his figure disappeared into the shadows, my mind drifted back to where it all began; a cool, windy evening as the desert winds howled, and the orange sun dipped low in the sky lower in the sky. The bleating of the sheep rang out, blending into a chorus with another herd nearby. I led my father’s sheep to the well with my pitcher across my shoulder. It had been a hot day, and the sheep…