The snow-covered Himamountain held a cottage with a colorful sign that said: “Come in, there’s room for everyone!” That turned out to be a lie when Himnib tried to enter with his herd of one hundred sheep.

The cottage sounded lively, but not full. Several lights burned, several were still off. The voices inside were closer to whispers than shouting.

Outside, a snow storm raged, and Himnib could barely even see his own white sheep against the white backdrop.

And so he quickly stepped inside, smiling.

The smell of warm vegetable soup and freshly baked bread greeted him. Normally, he’d live off of his own herd, but that had become nearly impossible. His animals produced less milk and meat than ever, because they could barely eat themselves. The First Conflict had left behind a black hole at places that should have contained large fields of grass. Just as it left behind a black hole where Himnib’s species had once built their kingdom: the Bearchitects.

After days of grueling travel he’d finally conquered the Himamountains. And, hopefully, a hearty meal.

The next few words were the last ones he needed right now.

“We are closed,” a snow leopard said.

He laid before the counter. One that his Bearchitects had surely built. Behind that counter stood the owner of the inn: a Yak with black fur at his back and an explosion of black curls on his head.

Himnib looked at the Yak for support. The only sound in the inn came from his walking cane, tapping the wooden planks as he continued walking. Four of his sheep also hopped after him; he pushed them back out the door without looking.

“But the sign clearly says—”

“We are closed to your species,” the leopard sneered.

The owner grabbed a piece of parchment from the counter and fumbled to get it inside a barrel. He wanted to grab a second object too, but Himnib had already spotted it. A ball of metal and wood, carved by a skillful artist to be shaped like a leopard. The rope attached to it had snapped, but still hung around the leopard’s neck.

Himnib stepped closer, his cane now tapping table legs.

The back of the ball contained a name: Lazpard.

“But you are a Companion!” he said cheerfully. “Companions are known for their hospitality and helpfulness! Surely you don’t want me to tell my best friend, the Wise Owl, that you have refused—”

Lazpard sighed and scratched a wooden plank with his nails. “Fine! Fine. Come in.”

The Yak continued cleaning the counter. He seemed nervous, which means he only increased the mess. “Yak yak, everyone is welcome! Come in, come in.”

Himnib had heard about a group of jackals who made fake Companion Necklaces. They pretened to be Companions precisely because everyone trusted them, because they had ended the First Conflict mostly peacefully.

Every animal species had one official Companion. One animal who had approved of the peace accords. They were regularly called to the Council of Kame to vote on a new law. This meant hundreds of votes. But it felt a lot more fair than “the gods decide”.

But no, this was no fake Companion Necklace. He knew that for sure—because he had one himself. And his species was the only exception to the rule.

Despite Lazpard’s aggressive expression, he remained a Companion. Himnib trusted him.

“Come on, woolly friends! Come on in!” he yelled back out the door.

He was getting old. The black bear leaned on his walking cane and refused to walk back out and push every single one of his sheep inside.

A few snow leopards eyed the herd with hungry eyes. They complained about an “idiotic number of sheep” and that it “would never fit”, then jumped through the glassless window and left the inn.

The Yak sighed as he watched the sheep pour in, one after the other. They pushed the tables into the corners to make room, and it still wasn’t enough.

Lazpard’s face spoke volumes: see, this was a stupid idea. Himnib didn’t see the problem. Nice and soft, right? And warm and cozy?

He thought it as the final ten sheep jumped over others, like bouncy balls, to end up on the windowsill.

“Well, you see,” Himnib said. “Sheep are far more intelligent than you think.”

Two sheep missed their jump and ended on a houseplant, tangled up in its vines. They decided to eat the plant instead of walking away.

“Well, not all are equally intelligent.”

Yak smiled as he lit fires in small baskets glued to the walls. Partially for light, partially for warmth against the snow storm that kept attacking and shaking the roof.

“Where did you learn that?” Himnib asked. “Are you one of those new beings that can do magic?”

“Nok nok, just an invention from the Gosti. Yak yak, they call themselves Primas now and moved to the Aparant River. Think themselves superior.”

Yak’s eyes narrowed. “But when I accidentally set a house on fire, yak, I was punished severely by the Council! Twenty years in jail, never return and—”

Lazpard growled. “Watch your tongue.”

Himnib wanted to ask more questions, but Yak fell silent and anxious.

“Hand over your cane,” the host said eventually, “and your other possessions. Yak, if you’re here, you can stay the night. As long as you pay.”

Himnib gave away his satchel. It contained items made of wool and his final bottles of milk. Creating clothes was similar to building homes, he’d told himself. It was smaller, and you had to be more careful, but he still proudly called himself a Bearchitect.

Someone had to do it.

But his walking cane would not go anywhere. Why did the Yak pull objects off of the counter? Why was he so anxious? Why were they whispering? What was written on that parchment?

His hungry sheep had started on the wooden planks inside the wall by now. There was no use telling them to calm down.

Lazpard used his nail to pick food rests from between his sharp front teeth.

“And what brings a Bear Companion all the way to Hima in a snow storm?”

So he knew! That made Lazpard’s treatment of him even more odd. “Looking for places where the flowers still bloom. Looking for other Bears.”

Lazpard scampered. “Ah yes, well, then maybe you shouldn’t have spread across the entire world like a bunch of ants.”

“Ants? The Council gave the Bearchitects permission to have multiple Companions, because—”

“—you believe you can just walk anywhere you want and eat other animal’s fields. Walk away from your duty as Companion, walk away from the mess you leave behind.”

When their territory was destroyed, the bears were spread out. They helped build homes and start the first cities on all continents, especially now that they’d invented how to grow food where you were, using seeds and gardens. When the First Conflict ended, all the bears were stuck in other countries and not allowed to cross borders.

Because that was the new rule: from now on, you needed to officially ask permission from a Companion before visiting a new territory. Very hard to do when your own territory is lost. Even harder when you were a shepherd who visited a new territory every day.

This cottage had to be near the border between Kina and Foenix. Himnib really didn’t have the time to look for the boss of Foenix to ask for permission first.

He didn’t have to study the walls for long to make this point. “We built this pretty cottage. We built all the cottages for everyone!”

His nail followed some of the elegant carvings of flowers and landscapes. This had to be the work of Bunjo—he made no ugly things.

“You know what I can’t do?” Lazpard growled. “Thanks to your cottages and homes? Hunt. Live underneath the moon. Catch prey myself and eat it myself.”

Yak grew even more anxious. Himnib pet the sheep next to him and whispered something in their ears.

That was another rule from the Companions. In certain areas, nobody was allowed to attack or eat each other. Only out there—in the Wilderness, they called it—you could live the way animals used to live long ago. A rule they’d copied from the gods, which meant half the world automatically hated it anyway.

“Then go and live in the highest mountains, if you really want,” Himnib said.

“Oh, yes, I will. But I have some matters to resolve first.”

Two sheep rolled forward like ninjas, bumped a barrel onto its side, and grabbed the parchment that flew out of it. Lazpard placed his paw on it, pressing the paper into the wooden floor.

The Yak disappeared through a side door.

Himnib’s sheep tried to overwhelm Lazpard with their numbers, but a leopard is big, strong, and entirely in his right to kill a few sheep out of “self defense”.

“Leave him alone,” Himnib said loudly.

Lazpard looked back, ever so briefly, to see if the sheep would listen.

Himnib swung his cane to remove the grey-dotted front paw from the parchment. His other claw reached for the paper, but a leopard’s tail slapped it away. Lazpard used his front paws as boxing gloves, while Himnib’s cane twisted and turned rapidly, creating an impenetrable shield.

He wasn’t the strongest bear anymore, but he remained a bear. He could match Lazpard’s strength and pull on the parchment just as strongly.

And so the parchment split into two.

Both animals lost their balanced and rolled backwards, into opposing walls of the hut. Himnib’s landing was softened by twenty sheep; for Lazpard they merely made a gaping hole.

The leopard scrambled to his feet, disoriented, then jumped through the window.

Himnib was left holding the other piece of the ripped parchment.

Proposed Law #1826: shepherds are also bound to Law #2. We have turned a blind eye for years as they kept switching territory. No longer! The worst offenders should be punished for all the years in which they walked our lands and ate our fields without permission. All Companions have until Marta the 17th to vote.

Marta the 17th. That was close.

The parchment held hints to a second Law that Lazpard would be holding right now. The thought of what it might entail scared him.

In the darkness he found his satchel and opened the door to the outside. The storm immediately grabbed his fur and yanked it every which way, as thick snowflakes glued his eyes shut.

“Woolly friends, my apologies, we must immediately get back on the road!”

The proposed law was ludicrous, but Himnib did not fear for himself. He was a Companion and allowed to travel anywhere. The same was true for the three other Bear Shepherds wearing a Companion Necklace. If all else failed, he hoped one of them would arrive in time.

It was a slim hope. For more than ten years, Himnib was the only one who appeared at votes. The other shepherds stayed away, or maybe they had even …

All the weight was on his shoulders, which meant he could never stray too far from the Council. Always new laws, always new votes. This little detour into the Hima mountains had already been more risky than anything he’d done before.

No, he mostly feared for the other shepherds who were not Companions, and his hundred sheep. They had no place to go. And if they took away his sheep, what would he ever do with his life? He could barely remember life before his first sheep. He couldn’t even remember how most of them became his, they just … appeared and started following him.

But nowadays he knew them all. By name, by personality, by the black dot on Barina’s butt and the half-grown horn on Behdo’s head—whom he suspected was secretly a goat but tried to hide that fact. Behdo himself claimed his ancestors were clearly unicorns.

And that’s why he was absolutely certain that several sheep were missing.

If the other Companions hear this, he thought, those snow leopards will surely lose their vote! Maybe even their land and other rights.

The snow storm raged on. He’d only been outside for a few moments, but both him and his sheep had turned as white as their surroundings.

He hesitated. Hesitation was bad. Doubt meant delay. Would he ever reach the Council of Kame in time?

His heart wanted to go after his missing sheep, surely stolen. Maybe they still lived. Those leopards wouldn’t dare break actual laws, right? They only did this to delay Himnib.

Don’t doubt. Doubt leads to delay.

He turned to Foenix. If he crossed that entire country, all the way until Sommer, he would soon reach the Council of Kame. He could take the route along the Dophin Pass. Even though Gulvi wasn’t around anymore to guard it, that body of water was still a safe and busy area.

His walking cane sunk deeper into the snow. His herd ran down the final stretch of the mountain, which meant a steep downward slope.

“Behdo is missing!” Behdiël yelled beside him. The strongest and wooliest sheep he’d produced after all those years.

“I know! I know. But if we don’t vote against that law in time …”

Was he against it? The gods had strict rules too and that had made the land safe.

That was different, though. Most roads weren’t guarded anymore and if bandits attacked you, well, tough luck and you’re on your own. If you happened to be born as the son of a king, then you were the luckiest. If he had to believe the stories from the first cities, life inside them was worse than when everyone still freely walked around in the Wilderness.

The other Companions would be against it too, right? He wasn’t sure anymore. Those laws made it seem as if everyone hated shepherds.

They reached the foot of the mountain. Himnib rejoiced in solid ground beneath his feet, though they were tired. They would enter Foenix and rest briefly, then—

Foenix had built a fence on its border.

He looked left, he looked right, but the fence was endless. All he saw was a gate with two guards. A very small gate, lit up using controlled fire. Must have been Bunjo’s work too: a beautiful gate that wasn’t practical at all.

He waited until the floor beneath his feet wasn’t covered in snow anymore. Then his walking cane tapped a rhythm of four notes.

The sheep formed a neat row, one behind the other, exactly one sheep wide. Himnib took his Companion Necklace from his satchel and showed it.

“Bear Companion here! I request immediate access, for both me and my herd.”

The guards, two male deer, pushed their antlers towards him as if they were spears.

“We must let you through,” one said. “But not your herd.”

“It will take a year before all those sheep have passed through,” the other added.

“Well, come on, sheep are nice and far more intelligent than you think!”

Himnib looked over his shoulder. Six sheep ran away from an annoying bee in such a frenzy that they bumped heads and fell into the dirt unconscious.

The deer was not impressed. “We have no room for it.”

Then you shouldn’t have built a fence, Himnib wanted to yell. But he said: “No room? For hundred small sheep? I am a Companion and demand you grant my request.”

The deer exchanged glances. “Can they do that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes, but you don’t think in general.”

“How dare you! Offend me in the presence of a Companion!”

“Maybe the necklace is fake. He doesn’t look like a Companion.”

One of them entered a watch tower from below, which was built on top of the fence. Surely not by Bunjo, because that thing was ugly, with twigs and pillars sticking out as if it were a wooden porcupine.

“What had you expected?” Himnib yelled in frustration. “A beast with four eyes and dragon wings? A crown on my head? Formal speech with unnecessarily difficult words?”

“Well, yes, yes that would have been more convincing.”

The other deer returned with a smile. “No, Companions cannot demand things from us.”

Their antlers turned forward again and pressed into Himnib’s belly.

“Thus we ignore your request.”

His sheep grew impatient. More and more left their neat line, especially those at the back, who still stood inside a dark forest. They were ready for Himnib’s command to overwhelm the guards or jump over the fence themselves. That’s how he’d survived until the end of the First Conflict. With the handful of sheep he’d befriended, he’d constantly misled and attacked the enemy.

But not this time. I must show that Bear Shepherds are not a plague, he thought.

“Then it is not a demand, but a friendly question. We will not stay. I am merely on my way to the Council of Kame.”

“Then leave your herd behind.” The deer pointed his antlers to a set of smaller fences in the distance. A meadow next to a stable. As if those low fences would contain his sheep in any way. “We can easily store them there.”

“You just said there was no space and now—”

“Make a choice. Other animals want to enter Foenix too.”

It was no choice. He would never leave his sheep behind, surely not here.

He turned around and walked away.

The deer yelled after him: “And a good night to you, sir!”

“I wish you a terrible night!” Himnib yelled back.

Once he was under cover of darkness again, he immediately turned left and strolled along the fence. He walked and walked, until the sun rose, and the fence knew no end. It almost felt like the Great Wall of Kina—another needlessly strong building that prevented him from every traveling further into Kina.

He did notice, though, that the quality of the fence deteriorated. As if their resources had depleted or the builders ran out of energy. Well, that would have to do.

His walking cane tapped a rhythm of seven notes. The sheep immediately ran for the lowest part of the fence and jumped over it.

Not all were equally successful. Barina couldn’t get high enough and slid back down, a long shameful path, until her butt entered the mud once more. Himnib himself obviously couldn’t jump that high.

He stayed behind with the weakest and smallest sheep, an increasingly common situation. The weakness spread through his herd like an illness, probably caused by lack of food or bad food.

Maybe they were right: shepherds were a bad influence on the world and unhealthy. Never, he thought instantly. We use almost nothing, ask almost nothing, and take care of everything ourselves. Most animals have forgotten shepherds exist, that’s how little we impact them!

Behdiël stood on top of the fence. Himnib threw his smaller sheep at him. They’d bounce on strong wool and safely reach the other side.

Barina could not be thrown. She was old—even more ancient than Himnib—and had terrible eyesight. She had to pushed upward as if she climbed the fence.

Climbing. That’s what Himnib had to do now. He found a soft spot in the fence and pressed his walking cane into it. Like hammering nails into a wall like he used to do …

He pulled himself upward. His heavy bear body reached only halfway.

“Hold it!”

The loud scream made the fence tremble and Behdiël almost fall. A deer came running for them.

“This is illegal!”

Why were deer so fast?

Himnib’s hind paws scraped along the wood, reaching for solid support. Once he felt secure, he pushed to the left and started swinging from his walking cane. Higher and higher, like a child on a swing who tries to loop the loop.

“Cursed shepherds,” the deer yelled. “The rules apply to everyone, do you understand?”

One more turn. One more swing. Himnib prepared to let go and make a final flight over the fence.

Sharp antlers pricked his back. He grunted from the pain and reflexively let go of his cane. His heavy body only flew upward a small bit, then started the inevitable descent.

Behdiël panicked and jumped off the fence.

The deer’s antlers pinched Himnib relentlessly, as if it were a sword intent on lancing its enemy.

A grey stone flew at Himnib, from the bushes. He twisted in the air to dodge it, but the deer was hit in the face and walked in dizzy circles.

Behdiël landed below Himnib. His thick, woolly fur formed a trampoline that bounced Himnib back up. On his way up, his bear paws grabbed the sheep like eager tentacles.

With his loyal sheep pressed to his chest, he arced over the fence and landed inside Foenix.

“Intruders! Alarm! Intruders!” the deer yelled. He was about to jump over the fence himself, then backed out. They didn’t have the sheep’s training nor their soft fur if they landed badly.

The deer stayed on the other side. But his antlers grabbed the walking cane and pulled it from the fence.

Himnib snatched the other end just in time. Both of them pulled, and the cane creaked and groaned. The cane was not allowed to break in to. Could this cane even be broken!?

The cane also wasn’t allowed to fall into the wrong hands. Himnib bared his teeth, found new strength, and yanked his cane out of the fence.

His sheep broke his fall. Himnib thought he saw a purple flash of light behind the bushes, and the deer fell down too.

He caressed Behdiël and hoped to find a nice field of grass to reward him. Preferably a field close to the Wilderness, so he could hunt for food himself.

“Onto the Council of Kame,” he mumbled.

For several days, Himnib traveled through Foenix without delay. The territory was far from full. He only met empty fields and untouched plains. As he traveled further, they stopped growing rice and started growing grain.

He remembered how small these plants were, when they just appeared during the First Conflict. Barely edible. They said you could be “hungry as a horse”, because a horse had to eat hundreds or thousands of these things to get enough energy.

Nowadays, these crops were big, shiny and nutritious.

Sometimes a group of animals worked a garden. The smallest plants, the “worst” grain, was thrown away immediately, leaving only the best seeds and plants. Those farmers looked at him suspiciously. They saw his herd and yelled the sheep were not allowed on their farm. Otherwise, they left him alone.

He wanted to keep watching. Enjoy the fields and the unobstructed sunlight. Let his sheep play amidst the stalks.

But time was running out.

He stuck to the beaten track: dirt stomped flat by countless animal paws, which turned into a wide stone road near the big cities. If that happened, Himnib knew he had to take a different direction, because the birds would probably have spread the news about him already. They though they’d solved the issue of the Spydoves—but no, they kept coming back.

Their luck had to run out at some point.

When evening fell, all the rules changed. Himnib had an incredible sense of direction, based on the position of the sun and moon, and even the smell of the wind and its speed. Even in the deepest dark, he’d walk straight at his target.

But that skill could not magically sense the presence of hidden creatures.

Himnib’s fur stood upright and his ears perked up. Crunching sounds. His sheep ceased bleating. Sure, he was an easy target. His herd was large as a forest, even when they pressed into each other’s fur for safety, and their white wool was clearly visible at night.

He thought this path safe, the Wilderness a long distance away. Now he trusted his intuition, which found the sounds odd, the shadows odd, everything odd. That’s what you get when the gods are gone and you—

A wagon on wooden wheels rolled from the bushes and blocked his path. A creature kicked open a latch on the roof, jumped out, and yelled something. This made the wagon turn around a half circle.

He knew these wagons: the Bearchitects built them too. Any moment now, the backside would open, and anything could come out of it.

The creature turned out to be a raccoon dog. It swung through the herd, straight at Himnib, with complete disregard for the sheep. It looked like a bandit with a black mask over his eyes, but that was simply its fur. Several balls, covered in leaves, fumed in his paws.

Leafbombs, he thought, should never have been invented by the Primas.

He could take one raccoon dog, but such weapons—

An entire army of raccoon dogs streamed from the wagon. Their faces all seemed covered in black masks, but in reality they wore nothing besides a cape on their back. And a few sharp weapons pointed at Himnib.

“Surrender! Give us all your money and possess—” He sighed, as did his army. “Ugh. It’s a shepherd.”

“Then we take the sheep!”

“Stealing from shepherds is no stealing.”

It was that bad? Did everyone hate shepherds? Or did they see him as a criminal too and refused to steal from colleagues?

Himnib ignored them and continued on his path, but the wagon blocked every exit. One of its wheels had broken in two, causing the wagon to sink partially into the sand. At the front, even more raccoon dogs waited. They pulled the wagon forward, as wolves pulled snow sleds in the Hima mountains.

“Not so fast,” the dog said. His eyes fell on Himnib’s walking cane. “Give us your stick and we leave you alone.”

Barina stood behind him and whispered in a croaky voice. “What do they ba-want with a ba-walking cane?”

Behdiël reacted. “I don’t know. Maybe they love ba-wood.”

“Then go hug a ba-tree.”

“Maybe they kidnapped Behdo.”

Himnib’s claw grabbed the cane more tightly. “You will never get it. Let me through, or the entire Council of Kame will destroy you.”

“Ah. Yes. Forgot about that.” The dog could not leave the cane alone and circled it. “The same Council that promised to remove all bandits from the roads? That one?”

“They’re not perfect. We’re figuring it out.”

He barely believed it himself. The Companions wanted to punish and restrict shepherds now. What would they come up with next? Were they even a good influence on the world?

“Sure. Tonight fifty raccoon dogs stand before you and your …”

“Hundred sheep.”

Yes, that sounded more convincing. The dog seemed to make calculations in his head. Could one dog beat two sheep each? Himnib hoped they would think not.

“The cane,” he eventually said. “It’s just a bunch of dead wood to you.”

“It is far more than a bunch of dead wood.”

This cane was his last memory of home. Of the other Bear Shepherds. Jorib had taught him how to make a cane like this, a week before he left for Compana and never returned. Bellib swore the gods were still alive and went looking for them with this cane. He never saw that kind face again; when he led an expedition to find Bellib, he only found his walking cane stuck between some rocks.

He distinctly remembered there being three other Bear Shepherds. But he had never known who the third one was, just like he never remembered how most of his sheep had entered his herd. Perhaps his old age had ruined his memory.

“Sure,” the dog said. “Give it to me and we let you live. We really need a walking cane.”

That made Himnib laugh. “You have a wagon! Besides, you can’t even walk on two legs.”

The raccoon dogs had circled the herd. For every pair of sheep, they had indeed positioned a dog, like a circular jail that shrunk every second. Their tails impatiently beat against trees.

“Then we take ten of your sheep.”

“Also won’t do, furry friend.”

The dog growled and bared his teeth. A flash, a push. Himnib felt a deep cut in his arm.

Blood trickled over the surface of his cane. He kicked up the end and hit the dog from below, square on the chin, sending him sprawling backwards into some sheep.

The army of bandits attacked his herd. The sheep bleated loudly; Himnib had to press a claw to his ears.

This made him deaf to his attacker from behind.

A hit to the head, a world that darkened even more, and he was unconscious.

When Himnib woke up, the wagon was upside down. Light had returned and the path was being used by other animals, all of whom walked past the scene of chaos in a wide arc. The bandits had disappeared, but not all. About ten of them were bound with ropes to the wagon, as its broken front wheel twisted in the wind.

His sheep were scattered over the entire area. He could hardly count them, laying on the floor. Most of them were still there, it seemed.

He felt around him.

His walking cane was gone.

“Let us go! Please!” The raccoon dogs fought against the vine ropes. “Before they return!”

They? Himnib stumbled towards the wagon. He could walk just fine, that’s not why he kept the cane, but his body felt as if it had just woken up from deep hibernation.

The dogs seemed scared. And smaller than they were—no, not smaller, their fur had been shaved off entirely.

In a moment of sympathy, Himnib cut them loose.

“What happened?”

“It was … it was … I’ve never seen something like it.”

A female dog supported him. “I said it. We must get magic too before everyone else has it!”

The dogs jumped to the trees along the path and ate every nut and leaf they could find. As if they hadn’t seen food in years.

Himnib froze. “How long was I unconscious?”

“A few days.”

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.

Wilderness was a well-chosen name. In such places it was even forbidden to build or use “new” inventions, such as buildings or weapons. It looked like a painting of nature just after it was created. Not exactly the same, but something close.

Himnib kept up the pace. Despite enjoying nature, he still wanted to leave this dark place, because he missed his walking cane. When the sun rose tomorrow, the date would be Marta the 17th. Then he wanted to be at the Council. At the winding rivers through the stone stands and the wooden throne of the Wise Owl. Beautiful, of course, for Bunjo had built it. He couldn’t wait to tell the Wise Owl of his latest adventures and to hear which parts of the world she had explored this time.

“Stay close!” he yelled, before realizing it might not be a wise move to make noise. Any further conversation was whispered. “Protect the herd. Who leaves alone, is left alone.”

Every shadow seemed to conceal a snow leopard. Even trees—surely Himnib wasn’t scared of trees?—seemed giants who could come alive any second. And eat you, or crush you, or whatever trees in the Wilderness evolved to do.

Like everyone, he’d heard the stories about the four Giants: the only trees who had a living soul and could talk. He also knew only one of them was left these days. The others had abused their power and lost it. He wanted to stay alive long enough to at least meet Gallo the Giant and speak with him.

Anxiousness made the sheep lose their formation. The dogs proved effective shields again. They ran circles around the herd to keep everyone pressed together, even when they heard weird noises or rustling leaves.

Himnib was suspicious at first, but he hadn’t seen anything weird yet. No sheep had disappeared or been attacked. He doubted that more bandits would wait for them in here. Yet with every twig that broke without probably cause, he was slightly less sure.

Would he meet the same fate as Jorib and Hellib? Stop it, he thought. They are not dead.

“What an invention,” he said to himself. “A shepherd with dogs. This saves me so much work.”

He waved for Hirdi to come to him. “From now, I will call you Sheepdogs. After the vote at the Council, I offer you a permanent place in my herd. What do you say to that?”

“I—erm—well. If you can ensure we have food? And don’t fall unconscious the next time we’re all attacked? Then fine.”

Himnib rubbed his temples. “What do you remember about the attack? Someone bound you to the wagon, right? Surely you saw something?”

“Yes, a bunch of …” Hirdi cowered and spoke softly. “Snow leopards.”

Why would they help me? he thought, and bind the bandits?

He stopped and raised his snout. Smells were less strong here. The wind could blow freely, without homes to stop it, and moonlight also wasn’t defeated before it reached the ground. If he looked upward even more, he could even see the furthest stars for the first time in a while. Beautiful.

Why had he always avoided this? This is where his herd should be every day. Maybe then they would grow bigger and more healthy again. Reluctantly, he had to agree with Lazpard. Himnib had built a thousand homes for others, but would never want to live inside a cube like that.

The Wilderness did make it hard to find the right direction.

He studied Hirdi’s naked body. “And your fur? Also shaved by Lazpard?”

“Who is Lazpard?”

“A leopard with whom I have a bone to pick.”

“Hmm. No. Then a purple flash of light appeared, multiple of them, with buzzing and crackling, and before we knew it everyone was gone and we were … like this.”

“Ah. Then you need not fear. What you saw is normal and not fatal.”

“Huh? Do you think…” Hirdi cowered again. “That one of the gods is still alive and helped us?”

Himnib smiled. “In a way, yes.”

Before him a tree bent down, as easily as if an invisible giant had kicked it. The herd continued walking, but at half their pace. It was no tree, no, it was too thin. It was the stalk of a very tall flower, bent by the wind, yes.

His front paw tentatively touched the plant. The stalk bent back up and revealed a large ball at its end, like a flower waiting to bloom.

A ball with teeth.

What, he thought, his heartbeat times two hundred, is this?

The ball opened. The plant bent again, reaching for the frontmost sheep. Behdiël bumped them aside, which allowed the plant to grab the tip of his fluffy tail.

“No!”

When his strongest sheep dangled from a plant with teeth, Himnib found the power to jump two meters and land on top of the stalk.

It immediately snapped in two, like a table from a weak-skilled Bearchitect. Behdiël flew through the air, as the damaged plant bent upright again and snatched him.

Himnib held on. This forced the stalk all the way to the other side, and the shepherd upside-down like a sloth from a tree.

The impact released Behdiël from its teeth.

“Carnivorous plants!” Hirdi yelled. The dogs froze and looked all around them.

Plants. Plural. Woolly enemies! Close to him, another stalk bent to the ground and bit at sheep. Himnib instinctively reached for his walking cane to give a command, grasping only empty air.

“No! Leave the herd alone! Take me!”

Himnib threw all his weight into his next movement and managed to completely break this plant. Now all the other plants.

His sheep understood. Each time a plant bent down to grab them, it was vulnerable. The stalk would be weak and exposed, ready to be broken by an attack.

Some plants were successful, and Himnib lost sheep every second. But then the others immediately overwhelmed it and ate from its stalk as if it was the tastiest food they ever found. One sheep would take a minute to break a plant like that. Twenty sheep per plant, and a carnivorous monster fell down with each heartbeat.

Himnib ran past Hirdi, who was still frozen by fear. He didn’t even react when another raccoon dog was thrown into the air by flesh-eating teeth. The plant opened its mouth—gravity would do the rest.

The shepherd bumped his shoulder into the stalk, which was at least four bears tall, fuming with rage. The dog still fell to the floor—but the plant was already there, toothless.

Himnib dropped from exhaustion and couldn’t defend himself from the next plant.

“Who leaves alone,” Hirdi yelled loudly, “is left alone!”

He jumped forward and scratched the plant in every place he could reach. A few teeth snatched Himnib’s leg, but Hirdi kicked them away. Within five hits, he’d broken the stalk in two and helped Himnib back on his feet.

The sun rose. The dogs ran circles around the sheep and helped bite through plant stalks. The end of the Wilderness was in sight and most sheep had made it. If they had the eyes of an eagle, they’d already be able to see the Council of Kame from here.

Himnib walked on with a hopeful heart.

But he had no eagle eyes—and also no elephant legs.

The final carnivorous plant was smart enough to not attack directly. Its stalk swept low across the floor and kicked his legs out from underneath him. Behdiël broke his fall, but his fur bounced Himnib away with even more speed.

The entire herd ran after him as if they were one giant sheep, out of the Wilderness, to catch Himnib as he fell.

They were too slow.

Pain shot through his back upon landing. He knew, immediately. He’d seen it happen to sheep, heard the sound, almost felt what the sheep must have felt then. He was so close, on the final day of the vote, but the stands filled with Companions felt half a world away now.

His leg had fractured, hopelessly broken.

Behdo’s legs shivered with every step through the snow-covered mountains. They were almost done. In the distance, he thought he saw a cottage with a nice fire burning, and a large colorful sign that he couldn’t read.

But no, Himnib paused again. The faster we’re out of dreadful Hima, Behdo thought, the ba-better.

Himnib wasn’t even doing anything. He’d let his herd roam freely on a flat plateau that grew purple and yellow flowers, then … silently stood in the center. For hours. He did that very often and it made Behdo nervous every time.

What was he doing? Finding the strongest and prettiest sheep to allow them to make a child together? Looking for his next victim to be shaved or milked? He only liked you if you gave more milk or wool than the others—so he did not like Behdo.

Usually, Himnib walked away after staring for hours, still having done nothing.

This time he failed to notice a red panda standing behind him and staring at him. You’d meet a red panda every now and then in Kina, but this one felt out of place. They were odd species, they ba-were. Nobody knew where they came from or how they lived, and they neatly stayed out of every single conflict.

The panda coughed. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

Himnib wasn’t startled. He didn’t even look at her. Shepherds must have eyes in their ba-back.

“Looking.”

“Yes, I see that, but why?”

“A shepherd must observe what is normal, to know what is not normal.”

The panda considered this, then snuggled against his bear paws as if they were old friends.

“And? Is everything normal?”

Himnib shook his head. “The sheep don’t grow as large as they used to. They walk more slowly. I think it might be due to lack of food, or maybe a sickness.”

The panda nodded. “Not much edible food ever since the First Conflict destroyed most of it.”

“Not all. I heard there are beautiful areas left, around Compana and Traferia, furthest away from the battle. That where we’ll go, once the Council stops summoning me all the time.” Himnib crouched and inspected the mouth and eyes of a sheep. “After we finally leave the nightmare called the Hima mountains.”

Behdo stood next to the inspected sheep. He was small, yes, smaller than average. He’d lived off of his mother’s milk far longer than average too, which frustrated Himnib, because he’d already wanted to milk Behdo’s mother. As his friends were all matched with a lovely sheep lady, he was never picked for anything.

By now, he was certain something was very wrong with him.

Himnib would ba-kick him out. Maybe even before reaching that cottage, out of which he could already smell the warm vegetable soup. He was useless to the herd. And the favorite saying of his boss was clearly: “make yourself useful, woolly friend, and there is always a place for you in the herd”

And yes, of ba-course. Himnib passed over Behdo and immediately attended a different sheep next to him. Behdiël, always Behdiël.

Or no, not this time. He walked back, ignored Behdo again, then petted a different sheep. A female sheep with fur for two. The famed knife appeared out of his satchel and shaved her fur.

“Your sheep look strong and healthy to me,” the red panda said. “I remember the days when sheep barely had any fur. But yours … is it magic?”

“No, no,” Himnib said smiling. “If only it was. I only allow my best sheep to bear more children. That way, every new generation is even stronger than the previous one, with an even thicker fur.”

A bundle of empty bottles clanged as they left his satchel. He dove under the sheep, searched for her udders, then pinched them to make the milk come out. He continued this process until all bottles had been filled, while the panda silently watched.

“Why don’t you go to the cities? The bears are loved, especially on Origina. You wouldn’t have to work all day, in the snow, on your knees. Not at your age.”

“Working is good. It keeps you fit and healthy. No, being a shepherd is not for everyone. Sometimes you have to walk for days without sleep, carry a sheep as your arms shake from exhaustion, and live with the constant fear that you missed something and your herd dies.”

Himnib closed the lid on the bottles and sent the milked sheep back to the others. “But if you do all that, you can see the world.”

The panda jumped on his walking cane. Behdo started moving again, though he didn’t know why he still traveled with this herd.

Himnib finally continued their ba-journey.

“And you see new life being born. All of this started, once, with only a handful of sheep. They were just with me, I don’t remember why, and obeyed my every command. Bunjo said he’d stolen them during the Conflict, and back then they were just slow creatures with a tiny bit of wool. We helped each other, fled from the Pricecats. Since then I’ve had to bury many sheep … but also seen many new lambs enter this life. The scariest moment in the life of all sheep. So fragile, so vulnerable.”

There it was—Himnib paused again. But this time it was Behdo who grabbed his attention.

He pushed around parts of his fur and felt his jaws, legs, and butt. Hij looked worried—not the expression Behdo wanted to see. He mumbled something about illness and not enough lambs the past year.

That’s that, he thought. I have to prepare to be cast aside.

The panda also started inspecting the sheep’s fur. Her and there she pulled out an insect, only to eat it.

“And all the sheep listen to you? Trust you?”

Himnib smiled. “Sheep only trust those who truly love them back.”

It started to snow. A grey-blue sky: storm was coming. That was enough to finally get Himnib moving again. Still he walked away as if he was sad about saying goodbye to the mountains, unsure if he’d ever return to this specific place. A place from which you could see a large part of the entire world, if you stood at the top.

Behdo might not have enjoyed it as much as he should have. Himnib had, with all his pausing, one time even stopping for five days.

We don’t fit together, Behdo thought with finality. I am not useful to this herd. I go away on my own terms.

Once they reached the cottage, he intentionally positioned himself at the back. As expected, the final ten sheep really didn’t fit inside anymore and had to stay outside, as the storm raged and raged. Behdo had picked a terrible time to walk away. But a decision is a ba-decision, and it was better this way.

The panda stopped him.

“Do you like it here, in his herd?” she asked in a whisper.

“Erm, well, yes, no, ba-don’t know.”

“Hmm. Not very convincing.” She studied the other sheep standing outside. Those were more positive.

“Are you not scared he’ll eat you? He is a large carnivorous bear.”

“He does eat us. Once we’ve died.”

Even then I wouldn’t give enough meat, little Behdo thought with half a horn on his head. And so I go.

“And that he commands you? That you are Himnib’s … possession?”

The other sheep scampered. “He is not the ba-boss. If we don’t want to ba-walk, all hundred of us stop walking. What will he do then? Carry us all? Give a speech?”

“Hmm. He never hurt you? No punishment? Violence? He took good care of you?”

Only now the sheep grew suspicious. Who was this panda? Was she investigating Himnib? Looking for a reason to steal his herd?

The sheep inside the cottage bleated loudly. Behdo heard tables hitting into the wall and splintering. Himnib yelled. Had a fight broken out? The other sheep ran inside to help.

Behdo ran the other way. The panda followed him. Those only ate much smaller animals, right?

The red-white beast unrolled a piece of parchment. Behdo was not good with words—another thing he lacked—and took a while to read it.

One law to punish shepherds for walking anywhere they want and causing chaos.

One law to forbid owning other animals entirely.

“I am not sure if we’re doing the right thing,” the panda said. “Or destroying everything the gods built for us.”

Behdo only heard half of it. When he returned to the cottage, everyone was gone. A Yak cleaned up the mess, growling and cursing. “Think you’re lucky, multiple Companions, honorable guests, yak yak, then they act like this …”

A Companion Necklace lay on the counter. It belonged to a leopard named Lazpard. Behdo snatched it, keeping the cut rope between his teeth, and walked away quickly.

He hoped the friendly panda would stay, but she climbed a tree and jumped between the treetops.

“Sorry, at your pace I’d never reach the vote in time!”

He’d have to brave the snow storm alone. Unsure if he had to find his own path to the Council and warn Himnib … or walk away from this herd where he never belonged.

Even if Behdo couldn’t see the herd, he still knew exactly where they were. The tapping of Himnib’s walking cane could be heard everywhere. Even in his dreams and nightmares. He subconsciously followed the sound, from a distance. Himnib had to be on the border of Foenix now; Behdo stood a little further among the trees.

He threw the Companion Necklace to the floor. Without their official seal, the leopards wouldn’t be able to vote. Was that enough? If Himnib didn’t arrive in time, would one of the other three Bear Shepherds do?

He’d heard all the stories. He listened whenever Himnib told something and knew that his own grandparents were there when Jorib, Bellib and Solong left … never to return. Maybe, if he was smart, he could still be useful to the herd.

But what was smart? Run to the Council? The necklace would just be taken away and given back to the leopards. And Behdo would be marked a criminal and jailed. Nobody steals a Companion Necklace without feeling the Council’s wrath! Merely faking one had put several jackals in jail for life. From which they escaped easily, time and time again, after which the Council changed tactics and decided to banish animals instead.

Would Himnib help him then? He didn’t know. After the meeting with the weird panda, he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to be someone’s “possession”. Even though the ba-bear had always taken good care of him.

Of course, that was partially thanks to his walking cane. Himnib only used it when it was truly necessary, otherwise the secret would be given away, but Behdo had seen him that night, yes. That night on the Great Wall of Kina in which he defeated an entire pack of wolves all on his own, even ending the fight before taking a second breath.

Himnib walked along the Foenix fence. He complained and poked the wall, looking for a weak spot. Behdo mirrored his movements from a distance. He already missed the herd; they did not seem to notice he was missing at all!

They’d found their spot. The first sheep jumped over the fence, but a deer guard had spotted them and approached screaming.

Behdo still felt part of the herd, though. If they were caught, it would feel as if he was caught as well. So his eyes studied the surroundings. Plants? Useless. Tree? Could never break it free.

Stone? Yes! Behdo took a large stone between his teeth.

The deer now stood beside Himnib and tried to pin him to the fence with his antlers. Then use your walking cane, silly bear! He didn’t.

So Behdo leaned back, gathered all his strength, then shot forward like an elastic snapping back. He threw the stone out of the ba-bushes and across the plains.

Baaah—even aiming was not a skill of his. Fortunately, Himnib was quick and swapped places with the deer. The guard’s eyes rolled in their sockets as he tried not to fall down. It was enough to let the herd escape.

Behdo breathed a sigh of relief. It was obvious to him now. He belonged to the herd, for now and forever. But he had to make himself useful, had to prove himself to Himnib. Otherwise they’d never let him back.

He had to make sure the leopards never got their necklace back and that the panda voted the right thing.

Himnib made good pace, which set Behdo back. It had taken him a while to find his own path over an even lower part of the fence. His tiny, weak legs also didn’t help. Half the time, he lost the sound of the tapping walking cane, and at other times it was merely a whisper on the wind.

Behdo noticed other whispers on the wind too. Whispers he couldn’t place, which grew louder, which growled and talked, until two stalks of grain were pushed aside and a snow leopard appeared before him.

“Peekaboo.”

Behdo bleated until all the farmers were deaf. One tried to push him away with his pitchfork, then turned the weapon to the leopard instead. Behdo stole the pitchfork from the raised flamingo paw and swung it forward.

The leopard received two nasty scratches on his belly.

“You have something of us. I’ll get it back, even if I have to pull it from a sheep carcass.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Why did Behdo even try? He had no satchel like Himnib, which meant the necklace dangled in plain sight. “Leave me ba-lone!”

Behdo sprinted through the field of grain until he’d created a flat path of crushed stalks. I am stupid. I am stupid. I should not have left the herd. I am stupid. I am ba-stupid.

The single leopard turned into a duo, who chased him gleefully. His short legs worked overtime and even granted him a small lead.

But to where? Why? Who? How?

Subconsciously, he targeted the friendly taps of Himnib’s walking cane again.

But he couldn’t stay ahead of the leopards forever. And now he actually led them to the herd! He had to go the other way!

The “other direction” held four leopards by now. The farmers walking the fields stayed out of this fight, neither helping nor blocking Behdo, only complaining about their destroyed grain.

Behdo bleated and bleated, until he decided to put all energy into merely running as fast as—

The sound behind him died down.

He carefully slowed down until he was able to look behind: the leopards had caught wind of Himnib too and decided to pursue him instead. That was the tastier target: if Himnib died, he could surely not vote.

Even from a distance, the herd protected him.

Behdo hesitated once more. He could continue his journey now without fear of being chased. But what was the point of reaching the Council, if it meant leaving his herd to die? Who leaves alone, is left alone.

He quickly ate all the grain around him, hoping for another burst of energy, and ran after the leopards.

Soon he spotted a wooden wagon in the distance. Two leopards turned it upside-down. An army of raccoon dogs scattered like water droplets, while a handful of unlucky ones were bound to the wagon instead.

Himnib lay on the floor. Dead? No, no no. He breathed, right?

“End it here, coward,” a leopard yelled.

“No. He is still a Companion. I am a Companion.” Lazpard didn’t even allow anyone to touch the raccoon dogs. He bound them, but left them healthy and alive. The herd had been driven apart, some sheep even ending up in a field behind Behdo. “The previous Companion that killed another was mercilessly thrown into the Fearvolcano. We merely need to delay Himnib.”

Lazpard trudged back to Himnib, who held his walking cane tight, even as he was knocked out.

“And steal his Companion Necklace. If we explain his sheep had stolen mine, we have an excuse.”

If that cane does what I think it does …

Behdo took a step. The leopards heard.

He circled the place, bleating and shrieking, with two leopards at his heels and a trail of broken twigs and torn leaves. He jumped on top of Himnib and grabbed his cane.

What was it again? Tap twice and then twist it? Tap once and say the magic word? Tap three times and do the dance? Behdo tried it all at once.

Something must have been the right combination.

A purple flash of light grew inside the walking cane. Energy came from within the wood, as if a living creature grew up rapidly inside the object. The leopards ran forward, but did not actually move forward. Their fur was shaved and their face frozen in terror. A bang. A second flash of light. Popping and shocking.

Behdo felt his body lurch upward, thrown into the sky. Judging from the cacophony of yells and growls, everyone else experienced the same fate.

When Behdo woke up, his belly held a deep imprint of the walking cane. He shivered in the cold and felt tense. Unsafe. He just lay there in an open field, a little sheep, a tasty bite for a leopard. How long had he been unconscious? No time to waste, no time to—

He heard another sheep. He knew every little sound his own herd made, from Barina’s croaky gossip to Behdiëls loud alarm.

He did not recognize this sheep’s bleating.

His head swiveled. Another herd? With another shepherd?

Oh, how he wanted to rub his fur against another again. How he wanted to walk in the center of the herd and not worry at all about an unexpected claw from the bushes.

He also wanted to reach the Council in time, of which he already spotted the entrance. It was a beautiful landscape where they’d collected all varieties of nature spread across Somnia. That was necessary, because if all Companions visited, then also all known animal species of Somnia visited.

A thin brook babbled next to Behdo now, but would become wider and wider, until it wound through the entire Council and gave sea animals complete access. A giraffe’s neck already appeared from inside, eating leaves from the highest tree. Birds arrived amidst sing-song.

He could neither see nor hear any other animals. Sunlight reflected from the Dolphin Pass, located behind the Council of Kame, and nearly blinded him. If you crossed the water there, preferably near the Holy Stones, you’d arrive in Origina.

Behdo immediately heard Himnib’s voice in his head again: how much he wanted to go there, how much he wanted to see Gallo the Giant, how much he wanted to experience sunset on the other side of the world.

They had to get there. And to do so, Himnib had to survive and stop all those silly laws.

Behdo scrambled to his feet, leaning on the walking cane. What kind of stick was this? Could he repeat the trick if he was attacked again?

“I must admit I’m becoming nearly as forgetful as cursed Himnib,” said a high-pitched voice nearby, “but you don’t belong to my herd, do you?”

“No. I am Himnib’s sheep. I was Himnib’s sheep. Maybe I am actually someone else’s sheep, because Himnib doesn’t even remember how I became his.”

“Himnib?” Her face brightened. She was a smaller gold-yellow bear, as if she were a mix between the black bear of Himnib and a red panda. She gave off the same energy as the walking cane, and the two seemed attracted to each other. “He is here?”

“I hope so.”

She wore a wrist bracelet—no—a Companion Necklace for Bears! The rope had been shortened, allowing the object to be glued to her arms. It was surely safer and more practical.

“You must hurry! They are about to accept a terrible law! And … and … who are you?”

There were three other Bear Companions: Jorib, Bellib, and—Solong! Himnib never talked about her, so he’d almost forgotten.

Solong playfully shook the long fur on her head. “Himnib’s mind might have pushed me aside. Sometimes it seems even I forget my own name. But I would never forget him.”

“Then where have you been? Why has Himnib never mentioned you?”

Her smile wavered. “Some love the magic that has flowed into our lands ever since the gods left. Some hate it because they fear it. And I must, unfortunately, admit they might be right to fear it. He … has never mentioned me yet?”

Behdo shook his head, though he wasn’t sure, because how else would he have known the name Solong in the first place?

She called Himnib cursed. That would explain a lot.

“Where have you been all this time?”

She smiled again. “Himnib might think the weight of the world is on his shoulders, that he had to do this alone. But he forgot the power of the herd.” Solong whistled a few of her sheep back in line. “The gods had given me a final mission. I am sorry, I should have returned more quickly, I just thought if I gave Himnib enough time …”

“Did you succeed? Were you and the gods friends?”

She smiled once more. She did that often, he’d learned by now.

“Such good friends … you would almost call them family.”

Behdo’s jaw dropped. So the rumors about the demigods were true. But of which god could she be the child? None of the six godchildren was a bear?

“I have many questions, but we must—”

“Hurry, yes. Why do you think I am here?”

Behdo lay down among the flowers, exhausted. Everything would be alright. He didn’t have to do this alone. Solong would vote for the Bears, convince the others, and … and then?

“Well, though,” Solong mumbled. “A second reason is that I’d like to chat with my good friend again, the Wise Owl.”

Singing. A beautiful melody rose across the field. Behdo made three circles, but didn’t see the animals producing the song. Or why they’d suddenly started singing in the middle of the day.

Solong’s face brightened further, her eyes closed and her ears perked up.

“Ah. The Singing Flowers of Eeris. The third reason I am here.”

The flowers around her swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the song. They were far larger and more colorful than any other flowers Behdo had seen. In his hurry, he hadn’t noticed at first. He’d even flattened a large patch of Heavenly Flowers with his body, after his initial landing.

“The Heavenmatter they never managed to steal. However often they moved the flowers, they always just traveled back to Origina, and that’s why you can find them all around the world in small patches now.” She giggled. “Not just Singing Flowers, also Traveling Flowers.”

Solong opened her eyes again and continued. “Better this way. Otherwise those mean Pricecats and other creatures would have won the First Conflict, imagine that!”

“They have won the conflict,” Behdo mumbled sadly. “The gods are gone.”

Solong crouched before him. “Look around you. See the green nature. See the busy bees that buzz from flower to flower. See the shadow our long-necked friend the giraffe makes across the landscape. Feel the sunlight and hear the birds sing. Would you not say … the gods are still all around?”

Behdo looked all around. All this time, he’d just wanted to keep walking, angry at Himnib for taking breaks and just sitting and watching. Now he saw. The nature was filled with places, so simply beautiful, that you could stand still for days and enjoy it. The gods were gone, but they’d left their beautiful pawprints over all of Somnia. He wanted to join Himnib and explore all these beautiful locations for the rest of this life.

But first, a vote had to be won. “Leopards are always ba-all around, apparently.”

The snow leopards that remained after the explosion, ran towards them. They wanted to flatten the flowers too, but when they got close they stopped singing and suddenly became tough as steel. Two leopards fell down from the painful impact; the others decided to take a detour.

“Oh give up,” Lazpard said. “We can delay you all day. We’ve told the other species what a virus the Shepherds are for months now. How unfair it is that they have multiple Companions. How they eat our lands and then leave. How all Companions should surely not mention these upcoming laws if they are ever unfortunate enough to meet a Shepherd.”

Lazpard’s paws pointed every which way. “They will all vote in agreement.”

Solong stepped forward. She had no walking cane, surely not a magical one, but walked with the same confidence as Himnib. “Hate, hate, hate. Always hate. The only thing that doesn’t change, unfortunately, whatever corner of the world you visit.”

This was not the right climate for snow leopards. They were far from the mountains now, in a warm country with warm soil. They panted, drooling on the flowers.

“I am a Companion and I will continue walking. Do not stand in my way.”

The leopards didn’t budge. Not when Solong was only a tree’s length away. Not when she repeated herself. Not when she could touch them.

Not when she suddenly whistled a melody and her entire herd stormed the leopards.

Two of them went down instantly. Lazpard raised his paw rapidly to meet Solong’s attack. Sheep after sheep received a large bite to their side, legs, or face, and had to stop the fight. Solong kept Lazpard busy, but lacked the power to win.

The sun set. The day was almost over—how long would the Council wait before counting the final vote?

Behdo was small. Very small.

That could be useful too.

He snuck away from the battlefield. Paw before paw, bit by bit, he made a large arc around the outermost leopards.

Solong saw it immediately. Not a single sheep escaped her eye, and after several had died, she whistled for the fight to end and to talk and negotiate with Lazpard again.

The distraction proved just enough. Behdo already stood behind the line of leopards before they noticed.

Solong ripped the Companion Necklace off her arm and threw it at Behdo. Lazpard made a giant leap, tapped the necklace with his nail and made it twist and turn in the air, but didn’t manage to grab it.

Behdo quickly threw the walking cane in return to catch the necklace between his teeth. He now had two Companion Necklaces: one from the snow leopards and one from the bears.

At this moment, he was the most important sheep in the world.

The ground shook below his feet as he entered the beautifully decorated gate to Kame. Vines curled around the wooden skeleton of the dome, mixed with gemstones from the Diamond Path on top of the Impossible Wall. Soon after, he heard crackling, and purple flashes of light were reflected on the gate.

A bell sounded from within the Council, no, from within the Wise Owl’s throne. It was located in the center, easy to reach for all different biomes around it.

Behdo hurried inside.

“Wait! Ba-wait! There is another vote!”

As Behdo passed the gates, his eyes were fixed on the colorful and elegant mosaic below him. As if, if he just didn’t look, all those other hundred Companions would no be there. Then he merely needed to cast his vote before the Wise Owl and then quickly run away.

But, well, where was the Wise Owl? It felt even sillier to accidentally cast a vote before a tree or a rock.

He gathered his courage, looked up and saw hundreds of eyes—

Twenty eyes. Just ten Companions.

Only ten animal species thought this vote worthy of their attention? Where were all the others? Had they already voted and then instantly left?

Currently, it was a tie. Five votes for and five votes against. The species who were in favor of the law, where mostly known as farmers, and they placed their necklace high. The others, including the giraffe and the red panda, did nothing—to indicate they were against.

A grey owl landed before him and studied the necklaces. “You … you are no bear. Nor a snow leopard.”

“Oh, this? This, erm, I don’t know how this ba-necklace came here. The leopards obviously do not vote. Do they even exist anymore? I don’t ba-think so.”

Behdo took the metal engraving of a snow leopard between his teeth, then tossed it aside. It landed in a river, but a dolphin surfaced to save it.

“I belong to Himnib’s herd.” Behdo swallowed. The sound echoed against the stands and somehow returned to his ears amplified. He bleated nervously, until he looked into the kind eyes of the Wise Owl. He didn’t have to fear those. Sheep trusted any creature who truly loved them.

“I received ba-permission to vote for the Bears. They vote against.”

“Good,” spoke the owl softly.

“Good? You are supposed to be unbiased!”

Behdo couldn’t see which proponent of the law yelled this.

“Good,” she repeated, “because this simplifies the vote. That’s 6 votes against, 5 for. The law has been repealed.”

“Pardon me?” a horse yelled. “You keep changing the rules! Since when can a sheep vote for the bears? And he clearly stole the leopard’s necklace. Stealing from a Companion means a punishment of—”

The Wise Owl rubbed her wings over her forehead.

“What silly animal,” she loudly declared, “would steal from Companions and then neatly bring it back to the place where all Companions are expected to be?”

“This is foul play,” a Prima added. “Where are all the other Companions? Those … those shepherds must have threatened them all and told them not to come!”

The giraffe rolled her eyes and slammed her neck into a tree to get attention. “Until the red panda told me, I had forgotten that shepherds existed!”

Behdo looked around him. All animals present belonged to a species that he regularly ran into during their travels. Species that actually knew what a shepherd was and frequently saw one.

Everyone else had forgotten their existence. For the shepherds had no homes or cities, no wagons or possession, no fixed place or trade routes. All the other animals didn’t know what the law was about or didn’t care enough to come.

“Both laws?” Behdo asked. “Both repealed?”

“Yes.” The owl flew to the raised podium that contained the throne, which she rarely used, because she was an owl. “The shepherds still have to ask permission before entering a new territory. But they won’t be disproportionally punished and it’s still allowed to “possess” a herd.”

“I want a new vote for the second law,” the red panda said. “Not all animals accept being someone else’s possession. Most don’t, in fact. They won’t choose it voluntarily.”

“You talk of the slaves from Amor,” the owl spoke carefully. “But those are criminals. Committing a crime makes you lose all your rights.”

“Won’t succeed,” a Prima added, as he already left the stands. “Too valuable. All animals who possess slaves will vote against the law, of course.”

“Then I will keep proposing it, over and over, until everyone realizes this is not natural,” the red panda said.

That just made the other Companions laugh, as they left the Council as if they were the best of friends and this was just a fun excursion. The owl sounded the bell. The day was over and the vote was final.

When only Behdo and the Wise Owl remained, new footsteps echoed through the gate.

Solong stormed into the Council, a snow leopard at her heels. Both were covered in twigs and flowers—and very tired. Shortly after, Himnib hobbled through the gate as well, supported by a few of those bandits and his beloved Behdiël.

“Behdo! My woolly friend!” Himnib stumbled towards him and raised him for a warm hug. Not wise, as they were now both on the floor, destroying a careful collection of plants from around the whole world. “You saved us! I may keep my herd and keep traveling as a shepherd!”

He only stopped rolling around once he saw Solong. Her face lit up, hopeful against better judgment.

“You … remember me?” she asked, as if she were a shy little girl again.

“I … do?”

Himnib tapped against his own temple, as if he feared a different head had been placed on his body. The blast from the walking cane, caused by Behdo, had moved something previously immovable in his mind. Or simply given him a terrible concussion.

“You’re the third shepherd,” he mumbled. “How could I have forgotten you? So … sonja? Soria?”

Solong screamed with joy and ran into Himnib’s arms. “Close enough. Close enough.”

He held her tightly. Something had awoken in him, something suppressed long ago. “How …”

“It’s a long story.”

“And my herd? Oh demigods, did I steal them from—”

“They were always yours to begin with, you simply forgot. Another long story. But I’d love to tell you as we travel together from now on.”

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

A grumpy Lazpard walked around them to speak to the Wise Owl. As he passed, he fished for his own soaked necklace and returned it to his neck.

“As I should, Aria,” Lazpard said, “I will accept the result. But know that many animals will not be happy about this. If we do not want to go down like the gods, we shall have to avoid making the same mistakes. I expect subsequent law proposals to be treated with more severity.”

He turned to Himnib, who rolled through the Council with Behdo in his arms, and then to a beaming Solong who studied the flowers from up close. “From now on, animals should not be allowed to vote for other species. And Bears are only allowed a single Companion, like everyone else.”

“Fine,” Solong and Himnib said simultaneously.

“We don’t want it anymore,” they said simultaneously again.

The Wise Owl seemed to grow gray feathers on the spot. “The bears can’t have zero Companions!”

Solong and Himnib held each other upright, as they trudged to the throne and lay down their necklaces. “Sweet Aria, feathered friend. There is no use keeping these things if we never intend to show up again.”

When Aria realized they meant it, her beak refused to shut.

“You are leaving?”

“This is goodbye,” Solong said. “We want to travel the world and visit nature.”

“I am done with all your laws, cities, borders, and sneaky plans,” Himnib said. “Give me the freedom of nature, nights underneath the stars, and a sheep for cuddling.”

“Holding life in your arms one moment,” Solong added, “and feeling it slip away the next.”

“The beautiful, safe silence of a sleeping herd just before sunrise.” Himnib smiled at Solong and grabbed her hand. “I don’t want to be called back to the Council all the time, which means I can’t travel further than Sommer and its surroundings.”

The last part was more mumbled than spoken. “I also don’t know if the Council and its punishments were ever a good idea.”

His snout bumped against Aria’s beak. “This is goodbye.”

Lazpard grinned. “Zero Bear Companions is fine by me!”

Aria planted a kiss on their forehead and accepted the necklaces. “One stays, the others must be destroyed.”

Hirdi and his Sheepdog ran through the Council and peed over every wooden pole they found.

Himnib endlessly stroked Behdo’s fur. “Who knows,” he said. “In ten years, another forgotten shepherd appears. Maybe Jorib still lives, or Bellib. Then you have your new Companion, oh highness.”

“Not highness to you,” Aria spoke softly. “Not for the Bearchitects. I, for one, do not forget what you’ve done for the world. How you’ve built this entire Council, with bear hands and bear wood. I wish you well.”

The simple shepherd, dear reader, will not fill the history books. You won’t find anything by them, except for perhaps a trail of fields eaten bare. But even that regrows quickly. And thus the simple shepherd is the only species that didn’t leave a permanent footprint on this planet. If everyone were a shepherd, if you ask me, many problems would be solved!

That is why I tell his story. I had almost forgotten it myself.

Himnib deed not need his great sense of direction, or Solong’s great eyes, to find Gallo. The Giant rose above everything, with a dense canopy that could have been the roof for an entire city. Nature around the tree seemed more full, more green, as if they had inhaled some of that original god magic. Their herds, now combined into one, ate from it with joy.

He could barely understand how a tree could be this old, large, strong, and beautiful at the same time. You could build an entire world here, a city of treehouses, and it would be heaven.

He sat down on a stone to give his broken leg some much needed rest. He healed quickly, which was no certainty at his age, but still not as quickly as he wanted. From his sitting position, he could enjoy the cool shade of Gallo, but also look out over the Saursea and the entrance to the Wolftunnels.

Behdo hopped towards him again. He’d done that for the entire journey. He kept offering his help in every situation and barely slept.

“I have explored the surroundings. There is no ba-danger. And I’ve already learned how we could talk to Gallo. And—”

“Why do you do this, woolly friend?”

“Why do I do what?”

“Calm down. We’ll survive without all that effort. Go and lay in the sun, next to Solong.”

Behdo stood taut. “But, but, I don’t want to leave!”

Himnib frowned. “Solong is just two tree lengths away, Behdo.”

“I don’t want to leave the herd!”

“Hmm? You saved the herd, Behdo. Why would you ever leave? Where is this coming from?”

“You said it yourself. There is only place for me if I am ba-useful.”

Himnib laughed. “Is that it? Is that why you walked away and ran to the Council yourself? I thought the snow leopards had taken you or harmed you.”

He shook his head and forget to give his broken leg a rest. “I can’t say you are my best sheep, Behdo, because you are not. I can’t let you bear children with all my female sheep, because then my entire herd would be as small and sick as you in ten years. I am sorry, it’s an unfortunate situation for you. But there is no reason to be scared that I kick you out.”

He embraced Behdo, crouching in the grass. “You are a living being. Just by existing, you’ve won a battle every day. Just by being the next sheep in line, you form protection for the others. You don’t need to make yourself useful every second of every day—you are fine the way you are.”

Behdo felt stronger than ever, while losing control over his entire body. He wanted to roll through the grass, enjoy the sun, and scream at everyone that he lived and was one of Himnib’s sheep!

“Speaking of that,” Himnib mumbled. He walked away, leaning on his cane that he really needed now.

Hidden by Gallo’s thick trunk, a female sheep lay on the floor. Solong leaned over her body with a worried expression.

“She … she …”

The female bleated loudly. Solong placed her paws around her belly, as carefully as she could.

Slowly, a red, small, living being slid out of it.

Himnib landed next to Solong and helped calm down the sheep, as he kept a watchful eye on her heartbeat and breathing. Behdiël stood behind him, alternating between being a very proud or a very worried dad.

Before Behdo could blink, Solong held a small lamb in her arms.

Everyone held their breath. No bleating, no singing bird, no howls from Sheepdogs who sat on their hunches like statues. These were the crucial hours. Himnib brought the lamb blankets to make it feel warm and safe, while Solong cared for the mother.

Until deep in the night, those two refused to leave the newborn’s side. Himnib checked time and time again if the lamb still lived, breathed, wasn’t sick, had no deformities. When both he and Solong finally fell asleep, exhausted, the lamb stood up herself.

She waggled, moving by falling and getting up again, to her mother’s udders.

Behdo assumed guard and protectively lay down next to them. The baby was strong. She’d survive. She was a new living being, that wasn’t part of the world yesterday, but could walk, think, run, play, and strengthen the herd.

She was enough to take away Behdo’s last doubts.

Just by existing, she was enough.

They’d visit Compana next. Looking for the lost shepherds and how Himnib’s cane received its magic. Among the animals of Somnia, a resentment against the Companions and their methods grew, but they were always friendly with the shepherds. Then they told about a land called Magica, at the tip of Compana, its very lowest point. Every story about magic that Himnib had heard, could be traced back to this place.

But first they’d meet the lion king Tibbowe, further down in Traferia. It was on their path anyway. His palace roof was leaking—and once a Bearchitect, always a Bearchitect.

And so it was that life continued …