Previously on the Chosen People.

Die, you miserable rat!

The boy did not hesitate.

The moment Saul's hand twitched toward another spear, David turned and fled.

Do you remember what I told you the night I gave you my armor?

You said I would be the night I gave you my armor?

You said I would be king.

I still believe it.

And I'm certain my father believes it too.

That's why he hates you.

Through the fields into the wilderness, into exile.

But he was not alone. The Lord was with him, his shepherd.

The rain fell in torrents, lashing the earth like a scourge. Thunder growled in the west,

a promise of fury yet to come, and the wind howled

like a wounded beast. David pressed forward, his cloak soaked through, his body battered by the storm.

He climbed the jagged rocks, searching for shelter, but the path was treacherous.

The stones, slick with rain, shifted beneath his feet.

He reached for a root jutting from the mud, but the earth had softened in the downpour.

It tore free in his grasp, and David tumbled backward, the breath knocked from his lungs as he hit the ground.

For a long moment, he lay there, staring up at the storm-wracked sky, his chest heaving.

Pain flared in his ribs.

He flexed his fingers and toes, numb from the cold, and forced himself

...