Shepherd Boy

farm

Billy huddled closer to the fire, prodding it with a stick and jolting when sap burst.

He glanced back from the fields to the house. A warm bed indoors would be nice right now. The grass was getting slick with dew and the wind was biting, whipping clouds across the moon. He straightened up, searching for signs of movement. A sheep twitching in sleep. Branches swishing. His eyes were leaden.

Something whooshed in the distance. There was a sound like someone shaking out a sheet. In the span of a heartbeat something swooped down by the ground and away. A sheep screamed, the flock stirred.

Billy stood, brandishing the stick. Now he was awake. What’d happened? It’d been too fast to see. Probably nothing. Too early to call out. He’d just been trusted to take a turn watching. Embarrassing to wake up the village over nothing on his first night. He started walking over, using the stick to get down the muddy hill, pushing down the thought of what he’d do if a wolf or something was running around.

The sheep were bolting away from the area. He couldn’t see anything the matter, heaving a sign of relief.

Then it happened again.

Something vast dove down in front of him, grabbing a sheep in scythe-like claws as it went, and soared away with flaps that shook the grass and hurt Billy’s ears. The animal’s cry vanished with the rest of it. Billy fell back in the mud, the stick cracking as he tried to catch his fall. He screamed, running towards the house, clambering around panicked sheep and up the hill, covering his hands in mud.

He paused, wheezing, just before his knuckles hit the door. What was he meant to say? He knew how it’d sound. Silly boy catching a fright. Got spooked in the dark. Fell asleep and lost some sheep, knew he’s too young for the responsibility, too old to make up stories like that. Those nice clean clothes. He stood frozen in place, sweating and dirty, pulse racing. The fire crackled.

He couldn’t tell them a dragon stole the sheep. He couldn’t stay out here with a dragon. Finally he pounded the door, calling out, ‘Wolves! Wolves took two sheep!’ Feet pounded on the stairs inside and his dad appeared, hastily putting on boots and a coat.

Billy grabbed onto him, burying his face in his belly, wailing. Big rough hands rubbed his shoulders then nudged him away, finding the mud on his face.

‘What’s all this? You didn’t run after them, did you?’

He tried to calm down. ‘It – they were so fast. I-’

‘It’s okay, Billy. It’s alright. You did fine.’ They settled down by the fire, a few other villagers coming to the commotion, checking on their flocks. ‘They’re getting bolder these days, coming down from the mountains.’ His dad shook his head, cast in silhouette, and spoke with a chuckle. ‘Almost like something’s pushing them out of there.’

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