Into the Shadows

The cold Bethlehem night hummed with frustrated murmurs. Inns overflowed, their doors shut against the weary. Mary, heavy with child, leaned against Joseph, her breath coming in ragged gasps as another innkeeper shook his head apologetically. "No room, good people. Not a single corner".

Across the crowded square, another figure knew that same crushing disappointment. He was a man of striking contrast: black hair was placed above a face etched with travel, and eyes the startling colour of indigo seemed to absorb the dim lantern light, reflecting a deep weariness. He was not old, but his shoulders slumped with the weight of countless rejections.

"Nothing, sir", a voice boomed from a doorway he'd just approached. "Try the next street, maybe, but I doubt it". He'd heard it a dozen times tonight. His dark features, perhaps his silent intensity, seemed to put people off even more readily than the general lack of space. He wasn't belligerent, merely persistent, but each slammed door chipped away at his hope.

He watched Mary and Joseph being turned away from yet another inn, a silent, shared understanding passing between them in the bustling chaos. Everyone was searching, everyone was desperate. But for some, the doors simply closed tighter. With a sigh that fogged in the crisp air, the dark-haired man turned, his indigo eyes scanning the inky sky, wondering where he, too, would lay his head this unyielding night.