4. Late Sheep
Himnib gathered his sheep and refused to slow down until night fell. Following the path had not made them any safer, so he’d given up. Now he walked in a straight line to the Council of Kame, even if it meant crossing straight through fields of grain.
The raccoon dogs had joined his herd. They stuck to the middle and looked around warily. The sheep were a shield to them. And a warm blanket, now that they lost their fur and shivered in the cold.
Barina struggled because of a nasty wound at her side from a spearhead. He had to repeatedly slow down or go back for her. One of the Leafbombs had also gone off, which Himnib had deduced from a sticky substance that glued many sheep together and didn’t let go.
When Himnib finally decided to rest for the night, he knew it was over. Barina’s legs gave out and she fell down.
A hint of sadness grew in his heart, but that same heart also knew that this was life. This was the cycle of the shepherd. If the sheep stayed alive forever, he wouldn’t be able to do this. All he could do was make their final moments as comfortable as could be.
And so he sought a patch of land covered in plants and lacking any sharp pebbles. He placed Barina on the back of four sheep, Behdiël among them. Together they carried her to her final resting place.
Barina had survived longer than he could have ever imagined. As large and old as she was, she had born many children and persevered through the snowstorms in Hima without a single bleat of complaint. Two raccoon dogs approached cautiously to help carry her heavy body.
When they laid her down, she blew her last breath. The sheep bleated a melody that might have been audible all the way to the Council of Kame. They swelled in volume for minutes, until even the raccoon dogs tried to join in with their howls.
Then they abruptly stopped and looked at Himnib.
He took a long, sharp knife out of his satchel. With practiced ease, as if the knife weighed nothing and moved of its own accord, he shaved her fur. The flocks of white fell down around her like snowflakes. Until nothing remained but the sheep, the naked sheep, and no more.
The herd turned away. They never wanted to see this. He didn’t have to ask why, but he also didn’t dare ask. Sometimes his relation with the herd was as if they could read each other’s minds, and sometimes he also wondered why another animal was in his possession in the first place.
The knife cut easily and produced enough meat to finish the journey. Both for him and the dogs. The bandits whispered amongst themselves, until the largest of them stepped forward, pleading.
Himnib gave them a part of the meat. But when the dog wanted to tear it away between his jaws, the bear kept a firm grip on it.
“You are part of the herd now.” His voice sounded frail. “You will not attack us, or betray us, or think you don’t belong with us.”
“We understand how a pack works,” the dog said, meat hanging halfway out his mouth.
“I doubt that. You gave up on your brothers rather quickly.”
“They’re a lost cause. I swear, if you’d seen what we saw …”
“That’s precisely why you form a herd. To help when the other seems a lost cause.”
“My herd are bandits! Do you think I want to be a criminal? If my pack had been farmers, by chance, then I would have been a farmer now. But no, my family had to rob banks and ask for the Council’s wrath.”
Himnib let go of the meat. “The wrath of the Council?”
“A fine of a million Soliduri. None of us is allowed to travel to one of the big cities. My grandparents are jailed for life. That was the punishment.”
Memories cropped up. Himnib had been present at these votes; he’d voted yes. If that new law passed now, his herd might feel the same wrath of the Council. Then again, these dogs had robbed a large bank, and he had merely jumped a fence or eaten away a field of—okay, fine, he’d stolen a lot of grain if you wanted to look at it that way.
“The Council can make mistakes too, hairy friend. Not every herd is created equally.”
The dog looked down. “Then maybe I wasn’t created for this herd.”
“Make yourself useful, plushy friend, and there is always space for you in the herd.”
The dog nodded and took the meat back to the others.
Barina’s fur disappeared in his satchel. Her skin would have to be treated first, but it would eventually become leather for clothing. He’d been working on boots and gloves for a while now. Especially with his walking cane gone, he needed a replacement for its function. He’d hoped they were done before they entered the ice-cold snowy Hima mountains. But none of his herd had died in time, so that was that.
The sheep had scattered again. Why did they keep doing that? In a full sprint, they would outrun Himnib. It made him doubt whether they even wanted to stay with him, that’s how fast they ran away sometimes. Or they hated each other, but he had no proof of that.
“Behdiël! Look where all the other sheep have gone. We can’t keep stopping and delaying.”
“They don’t like it when a sheep ba-dies. You know. They’ll return.”
“They must return now.”
“I’ll do my ba-best.”
Behdiël trudged away. His size made him strong and fertile, but also slow. He didn’t hop through meadows anymore like the young lambs.
The dogs shivered. They missed their fur, especially in the cold night. Himnib rummaged in his satchel and threw two wool blankets at them. The largest of them nodded again, but didn’t use them. He gave them to the smallest dogs and ran away.
“Hey! Dog! Bandit!”
He really had to learn their names. A shepherd who didn’t know the names of his herd was no shepherd!
His cry echoed against the empty night sky. Too slow! They were too slow! He had to travel onward, for Marta the 17th was almost upon them.
But what if his herd didn’t follow? He would not leave behind a single sheep.
Doubt. Doubt was bad. Doubt meant delay.
In the darkness ahead of hem, the face of a raccoon dog appeared again. He returned!
And he’d brought ten sheep with him, bleating as if the devil was at their back. Once the sheep stood next to Himnib, the dog ran away again, only to return shortly after with the next batch of sheep. Like a magnet that repelled the sheep, straight into Himnib’s arms. A magnet that could run faster than them!
Himnib continued walking as fast as he could. It was still possible to make the vote. Apparently everyone hated shepherds, which made him doubt whether his vote would matter at all, but he had to stand up for the Bearchitects.
All the weight was on his shoulders again. Three other Bear Companions—Jorib, Bellib and one he somehow could not remember at all—but he’d be the only one at the vote. Otherwise he’d lose his herd and maybe his freedom. He still felt terrible and sick for losing just a single sheep, Behdo, days ago.
What would he do without them? He’d miss the warmth. The chats from his woolly friends about funny things that didn’t matter. Finding a new meadow together and seeing the pure joy in their eyes, and the chaos that followed. Watching the beautiful sunset, every day, from a different location. Travel the world and taste new food each time. Explore buildings that his species had built with love, each one a wonder in its own right.
No, if he could, he’d give a thousand no votes. And what was the second law that Lazpard had? Was he walking straight into a trap? If he told them that snow leopards had stolen his Behdo, would they laugh at him or would they listen?
After walking for half an hour, the dogs had brought the entire herd together again. It felt safe. The white balls around him, now interspersed with brown-black splotches. Not completely safe, of course—his claws still reached for a walking cane that was gone.
I hope someone takes good care of that thing and doesn’t abuse it, he thought. Or a truly terrible time lies ahead of that being.
He tapped the largest dog on his head.
“Tell me your names.”
“I am Hirdi. This is—”
His voice broke off halfway. The herd stood at the start of a line of stones. It wasn’t meant as a fence: if the stones were slightly less rough, Himnib could have sat on them as if he still worked at his old workbench. No, the stones were meant as a warning.
It was the fastest way to the Council. Only if the traveled through the Wilderness, where all laws disappeared and nobody knew what happened, he could still arrive in time.