A Woman Fled—While a Dragon Hunted Her

2
# Min Read

Revelation 12

She ran until her chest burned. One arm clutched her round belly. The other steadied her against the rough stone walls of the mountain path.

Behind her, the sky cracked open.

She looked back—and saw it.

A dragon.

Huge. Black as smoke. Wings like torn cloth. Eyes glowing like fire.

It screamed, and the sound wasn’t just loud—it felt like the whole world wanted to crush her.

The baby inside her kicked. Not in fear.

He wasn’t afraid.

She felt it.

“God,” she whispered. “You said this child would rule. You said You were with me. Where are You now?”

The path dropped off into a cliff. Wind whipped her face. The desert below stretched wide and empty.

Behind her, the dragon roared again.

She had to choose.

There was a ledge—thin, dangerous—running along the edge. She stepped onto it, hugging the wall.

“Hold on,” she said to the baby. “Keep breathing.”

Rocks slid beneath her feet. Her robe caught and tore on the jagged stone. She didn’t stop.

She didn’t look up. If she looked at the dragon, she might freeze. If she froze, she might fall.

The ledge curved around a bend. It opened into a valley—bare and dry. No trees. No water. Just cracked earth and silence.

She stopped. Her knees gave out.

“This is the place?” she asked the wind. “This?”

She sank to the ground, shaking.

But then—wind passed over her. Not from the dragon.

It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t cold.

It felt like peace.

She breathed deep. The baby moved. Calm.

The dragon still circled above—but didn’t come down.

At the edge of the valley, she saw it: a split in the rocks. Just wide enough for her.

She stood.

Not because she felt strong—but because her legs still worked.

She walked to the cave.

And entered.

Time changed in that place.

She didn’t thirst. Food appeared each day. Her belly grew. The baby stretched, strong.

She stayed alert—like a deer listening, like a mother bear guarding.

But she was safe.

Then came the pain.

She gripped the cave wall. No midwife. No helper. Only God.

The baby was born with a cry like rushing wind.

She wrapped him in cloth.

Held him close.

His eyes were wide. Clear. Strong. He didn’t cry again.

Thunder rolled through the sky.

Far above, a battle raged.

She held her son tight.

And wept without words.

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She ran until her chest burned. One arm clutched her round belly. The other steadied her against the rough stone walls of the mountain path.

Behind her, the sky cracked open.

She looked back—and saw it.

A dragon.

Huge. Black as smoke. Wings like torn cloth. Eyes glowing like fire.

It screamed, and the sound wasn’t just loud—it felt like the whole world wanted to crush her.

The baby inside her kicked. Not in fear.

He wasn’t afraid.

She felt it.

“God,” she whispered. “You said this child would rule. You said You were with me. Where are You now?”

The path dropped off into a cliff. Wind whipped her face. The desert below stretched wide and empty.

Behind her, the dragon roared again.

She had to choose.

There was a ledge—thin, dangerous—running along the edge. She stepped onto it, hugging the wall.

“Hold on,” she said to the baby. “Keep breathing.”

Rocks slid beneath her feet. Her robe caught and tore on the jagged stone. She didn’t stop.

She didn’t look up. If she looked at the dragon, she might freeze. If she froze, she might fall.

The ledge curved around a bend. It opened into a valley—bare and dry. No trees. No water. Just cracked earth and silence.

She stopped. Her knees gave out.

“This is the place?” she asked the wind. “This?”

She sank to the ground, shaking.

But then—wind passed over her. Not from the dragon.

It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t cold.

It felt like peace.

She breathed deep. The baby moved. Calm.

The dragon still circled above—but didn’t come down.

At the edge of the valley, she saw it: a split in the rocks. Just wide enough for her.

She stood.

Not because she felt strong—but because her legs still worked.

She walked to the cave.

And entered.

Time changed in that place.

She didn’t thirst. Food appeared each day. Her belly grew. The baby stretched, strong.

She stayed alert—like a deer listening, like a mother bear guarding.

But she was safe.

Then came the pain.

She gripped the cave wall. No midwife. No helper. Only God.

The baby was born with a cry like rushing wind.

She wrapped him in cloth.

Held him close.

His eyes were wide. Clear. Strong. He didn’t cry again.

Thunder rolled through the sky.

Far above, a battle raged.

She held her son tight.

And wept without words.

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