Saul summoned David to his tent that same evening. The boy still carried Goliath’s head by its thick black hair, the giant’s bronze helmet tucked under his other arm like a trophy too heavy for pride but too significant to drop. Blood had dried in dark streaks across David’s tunic and forearms, yet his face remained calm, almost serene, as though the violence had been a passing storm and he had already stepped out into clear air. The head swung gently with each step, leaving a thin trail of crimson drops in the dust.
